


Sound Carries

by aelenko



Series: Sound Carries [1]
Category: Original Work, Sound Carries
Genre: Dark Academia, Detectives, Eventual Romance, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Operas, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 123,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelenko/pseuds/aelenko
Summary: At the Conolly Institute for the Performing Arts, seven opera students fight for the chance to prove themselves. Leah Woodley, an often-overlooked senior student, is determined to land a lead role this year and demand the attention of the faculty. The problem? Everyone else has the same goal. Since this is their third and final year at the school, stakes are already high, but when the  star performer Hannah Frazier disappears without a trace midway through the year, tensions are drawn taut. When her body is discovered at the bottom of Conolly’s highest tower, and the circumstances preceding the tragedy come to light, two things become clear: Hannah’s death wasn’t an accident, and each of the six remaining students has a terrible secret.
Series: Sound Carries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791766
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

“What I have in my heart and soul - must find a way out. That’s the reason for music.”

_-Ludwig van Beethoven_

## Prologue

Three things happened the day Hannah disappeared: we had the first snow of the school year, the cast list for the winter production was posted, and I received a very strange phone call. 

When I think back to that day, I find that I have a hard time remembering the details. The specifics have slipped through my fingers, and I only have little snippets left over, all of them painted with the same ugliness that accompanies the rest of my memories of that year. 

I have thought at length about the best way to present this story. At first I thought that the day that she disappeared was the catalyst for all of the events that followed, but really, now that I’ve had these years to think about it, the story began much earlier, with the auditions in the very beginning of the term. 

My name is Leah Woodley, and this is a story that I have been trying to tell for a very long time. 


	2. ACT ONE - 1.

ACT ONE

"The music is not in the notes, but in the silence in between."

\- _Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart_

“I can’t just stay and listen. I can’t do it.” Audra covered her face with her hands, peering up at Gabriel through her fingers. 

The gesture was for show. We all knew Audra wouldn’t go anywhere until Hannah’s audition was over, but Gabriel put a sympathetic arm around her anyways. “You did great.” 

“You didn’t hear me.” Her voice was muffled.

Nerves jangled in the pit of my stomach as I leaned the back of my head against the stone wall, waiting, September sunlight flooding through the narrow window and illuminating Audra’s fine blonde hair.

I would be auditioning last. With the surname Woodley I was always last. It was maddening to stand in that cramped hallway as the group of us dwindled from seven down to one.

Students at the Conolly Institute for the Performing Arts loved what they studied. It wasn’t a choice. There was something about the isolated nature of it, the infectious passion of the professors, and the rigorous demands of the program that required a reckless devotion of us, and we delivered it in spades.

That was why we were here. Pure consecration to our chosen craft.

Auditions were a chance to prove what we’d worked so hard to achieve. They were examinations before we’d been taught – examinations based on our intrinsic ability. They determined casting for shows, prioritization of masterclass schedules, and studio placement. In first and second year, this hadn’t mattered.

This year, our final year, it mattered.

Conolly had a strange way of structuring their program. Everyone who attended was required to major in some sort of performing art and achieve an academic minor in order to graduate. It took three years to receive a diploma, rather than four, and every year ended in a high stakes examination. Those examinations dictated who would return to Conolly the next year, which weeded out those not cut out for the brutality of the performing arts scene.

Our class was nearly halved every year. I had made it through each vicious cut by the skin of my teeth, which left seven of us in the program in our final year - four girls, three boys: Audra, Hannah, myself, Cecily, Gabriel, Colin, and Oliver. We formed an intimate, strange little group, still learning how to operate as seven rather than fourteen.

Audra Daly was the star of our year. Everybody knew it, and knew not to question it. Nobody worked harder or wanted it more than she did, and she made a point of ensuring we knew it. She was incredibly talented, and besides that, she was the perfect fit for any role: petite, blonde, with the kind of face that could be whatever it needed to be. She was one of very few students privileged enough to both major and minor in the performing arts - it was rumoured that her dance and vocal auditions were so incredible that they had no choice but to let her study both. Her technique was refined, her understanding of the characters she portrayed unparalleled. I’d known right from first year that she would never be cut.

But if Audra was a star, Hannah Frazier was a galaxy. Everything she touched turned to gold. She made it look effortless, sunshine personified, with rosy cheeks and gilded hair to boot. She had parachuted in midway through our second year, which we all knew drove Audra mad with jealousy. I’d heard that Conolly had hand selected her from a different school, but I didn’t know where. Sometimes I wanted to ask Hannah about it, but I often found myself too intimidated to really consider her a friend.

Cecily Preece, my roommate, was the only alto. Besides being a good enough singer to make it to third year, she was also an artist, and she played the harp well enough that Conolly had let her take a double major. She didn’t have to cling to every success and failure like the rest of us, but she did so desperately anyway. Two years of it had left her all hard edges except for her hair, which coiled and curled in bright red spirals that bounced with every step. 

The boys were a strange species. 

Gabriel Morrow and Oliver Grey were both basses and both dark haired, and that is where their similarities ended. Where Gabriel was big, Oliver was lanky. Where Gabriel had a bellowing, impressive sound, Oliver drew audiences in with the mellow timbre of his voice. Gabriel was the one cast as kings, as dignitaries. They cast Oliver as the villain, which I’d always found slightly ironic, since he was one of the most sincere people I’d ever met. He and Gabriel were best friends, had been inseparable since their first year, for reasons I couldn’t fathom. If Oliver was genuinely sincere, Gabriel was whatever the opposite of that might be. He wasn’t hostile, exactly, unless you didn’t matter to him. I’d been one of the people that didn’t matter, so I was probably biased.

Colin Thorpe, the third of their lopsided trio, was probably my closest friend at Conolly. On stage he was charismatic, brimming with an energy none of the rest of us could match. Offstage he was meek, the shadow of the group, but I’d learned quickly that it was foolish to underestimate him. Though he hid behind messy, scraggly blonde hair and large round glasses worn low on his nose, I thought he was probably smarter than the rest of us combined.

There had been others, before. That first week back at Conolly had been strange and terrible, unbalanced without the presence of the rest of the students that had made us a cohesive group. At the time, as deeply entrenched in the program as I was, I assumed that the school employed these cuts in our best interest, but looking back, it seemed like a treacherous setup, bound for disaster. Sometimes I wonder whether it was this that turned everything sour. 

Usually after auditions I could get a good sense of how the others felt. All it took was a lift of the shoulder or the hard edge of a mouth to know if it had gone poorly. But today something was different. In between the predictable moments, an undercurrent of panic murmured, an agitated energy usually reserved for finals and juries. As each of my classmates disappeared into the room and reappeared twenty minutes later, I had the sudden and strange sensation that I had never known them at all, like I would have to start over to learn who they were.

Maybe it was because the stakes were so high. Opera was different than anything we’d ever done. It was much bigger, I felt. It would take more from us and more out of us. We all knew how vital it was that we succeeded in our performances this year, and it was this knowledge that ate away at us as we stood in the hall. 

As the afternoon dragged on, the group dwindled until it was just Colin and I left. 

He bounced his heel against the wall behind him, resting his head on it with his eyes shut. “It’s impossible to relax.” He murmured. “I keep wanting to and then I can’t.” 

“At least you’re not last.” I remarked. “I’m so jittery I can’t keep my hands still.” 

“You’ll do great.” Colin reassured me, his eyes still shut. “You always do.” 

“Not great enough to get a lead.” 

That got a smile out of him. “I can sympathize with you there.” 

Then the door opened, and Cecily exploded out into the hallway. That was how Cecily did everything: with explosive energy.

“Well _that_ ’ _s_ over.” She heaved a sigh. “And good riddance, too.” 

“Easy for you to say.” Colin moaned. “Aren’t you a shoo-in to win the concerto competition this year?” 

She waved him away, her curls bouncing as she backed down the hallway. “I want a good role in the show too, you know!” 

Dr. Davis, the head of the vocal department, poked her head out the door. “Colin?” 

And then it was just me. 

I had found myself at the Conolly Institute by a series of happy mistakes. Firstly, I failed my last semester of math in high school, entirely wiping out my prospects at the schools I had been considering. Secondly, even though I hadn’t been much of a singer up to that point, I took a summer program studying the Baroque vocal art on a whim, and then, thirdly, I found the brochure for the school plastered by the wind onto the glass at my bus stop. I had never even heard Conolly, but after the summer study I was taken by some notion that I was destined for the stage, and the picturesque campus displayed on the brochure seemed like the perfect place to start. 

Once I had done some rudimentary research, I had found that the institute was highly respected within the music world, well known for taking an unorthodox approach that produced musicians, actors, and dancers who went on to make big names out of themselves. 

It took some convincing for my parents to accept that I was dead set on going. They were both full of immense skepticism about a career in the music world. But at that time I was already too late to apply for that school year, and, after a gap year in which I refused to apply for other schools, or do anything other than work odd jobs and take lessons, they at last gave their consent. I told them that by letting me go, they were ensuring that I would have the best possible experience a young musician could have. 

And up until that last, third year, I did. 

I sighed, my fingers tapping out the rhythm of one of the pieces I was going to sing, then closed my eyes, mouthing the words to the recitative I had chosen from Bizet’s _Carmen_. 

_Quand je vous aimerai?_

When am I going to love you? 

_Ma foi, je ne sais pas._

My Word, I don’t know. 

_Peut-être jamais, peut-être demain ;_

Perhaps never, perhaps tomorrow; 

_mais pas aujourd'hui, c'est certain._

But not today, that’s certain. 

I startled at the sound of footsteps coming around the corner and opened my eyes.

It was Oliver. 

“Oh good, you’re still out here.” He came to a faltering stop. “I wanted to wish you good luck.” 

“Oh.” I found myself scrambling to find the right words. “Thank you. I’m sure you did great. You always do.” 

He gave me a small, rueful smile. “I hope they agree.” 

“They will.” 

He looked down at his shoes. 

I bit my lip and wished desperately that Colin would come out. 

“Well,” He said, “I guess that’s all.” 

“Okay.” I said. 

He gave me a long, somber look before he turned around. 

I stared daggers at his back as he left, wishing he hadn’t come. Every interaction I had with Oliver was stilted now, awkward, exactly what I had been hoping to avoid when we had broken up at the end of last year. 

I closed my eyes, willing myself back to a proper pre-audition mindset, but it felt like my mind was playing a broken record, stuttering back to the crushed expression he’d worn in the days after I had ended it.

I’d hoped it would be better with a summer apart between now and then, and for the most part, it had been, except occasionally when he would give me that sidelong look that I knew so well. It had only been a week back at Conolly, and as I’d reminded myself multiple times since I’d arrived, there was still time to get back to being friends.

_Quand je vous amerai?_

I couldn’t remember what came next. The words felt weighted suddenly, heavy. 

When am I going to love you? 

My word, I don’t know. 

Perhaps never, perhaps tomorrow; 

But not today, that’s certain. 

I stared at the spot he had been standing. What had I been thinking, choosing that recit? I hadn’t been thinking, I told myself, that was all. 

Even now, I believe that we carry the weight of our heaviest thoughts in our subconscious, and aware or not, those thoughts can spill out into the choices we make. 

Maybe that song did have some kind of underlying meaning, or maybe it meant nothing at all, but by the time Colin came out, my palms were sweating, and I felt even more nervous than I had a right to be. 

He was wide eyed, shaking his head slightly. “My God, what a panel.” He said. “They’ve got Dr. Rutledge in there.” 

“Nobody else said anything!” My stomach twisted. 

Dr. Rutledge was the principal, formidable for his prolific career and uncanny ability to predict which students would succeed after their time at Conolly. The last part was just a rumour, or at least, I hoped so, because sometimes when our paths crossed I got the unnerving sensation that I might be translucent.

“I don’t think they _knew_.” Colin was still shaking his head. “It looked like he had just arrived when I went in.” 

I was horrified. “But why now?” 

He shrugged. “I’m not going to think about it. I’m going to go drown myself in the lake.” 

That was how I knew his audition had gone just fine.

Dr. Davis’ head appeared around the door, like clockwork. “Leah?” 

Colin gave me a small wave and a tight smile, then turned around and left, footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. 

I followed Dr. Davis into the dark. 

It took several seconds before my eyes adjusted to the gloom of the small room. I’d been in here before for juries, but it was no less nerve wracking this time.

I took my place beneath the single spotlight. 

In front of me there was a long table, behind which several teachers sat. On the end, sure enough, Dr. Rutledge’s spectacles glinted. I could make out his shirt – collar upturned – and hair a wild halo. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Woodley.” His voice boomed even in the small space. 

“Good afternoon.” I wasn’t sure whether to address him by name or not. 

“Let’s start with your monologue.” He was already scribbling on a sheet of paper. 

“Leah Woodley,” I stopped to clear my throat, then repeated, “Leah Woodley, performing Tamora from Shakespeare’s _Titus Andronicus_.” 

There was some appreciative murmuring from the panel. 

“Have I not reason, think you,” I began, “to look pale? These two have ‘ticed me hither to this place…” 

The monologue was the easy part for me. Acting was alright when the only thing I had to think about were the words. It was always once music got in the way that things began to tangle themselves in my mind. 

Once I got going the words flowed out with no problems, and I finished feeling quite alright with it. 

“And for your recitative?” 

“Er-“ I faltered. “ _Quand je vous aimerai_.” I said. 

There was a moments pause. 

“Composer?” Dr. Davis asked gently. 

“Oh.” I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. “Bizet. From _Carmen_.” 

“Whenever you’re ready.” 

I took in a deep breath. I thought about Oliver in the hallway. Why had he chosen _right before_ my audition to come and see me? 

I tried to bring up the words in my mind. 

Nothing. I felt a terrible lurch as my heart tripped in my chest.

Where were the words?

“Just give me a moment, please.” I said, trying to stop the shake in my voice. 

“Take your time.” It was Dr. Rutledge speaking. 

_Quand je vous._

Oh, right. 

When I began to sing, my voice was tremulous at first, but I regained strength quickly and finished strong. I made it through my aria – ‘ _Stride la vampa!_ ’, Verdi – as though in a fog.

I still don’t remember how the rest of that audition went. All I remember that when I left the room my hands were shaking, and I was left blinking in the sudden light of the corridor. It was over.


	3. 2.

I found the rest of the group at the top of the tower. 

The tower was Conolly’s point of distinction, a hulking two-hundred-foot spectre plastered across every glossy brochure, instantly recognizable to those immersed in the global performing arts scene. It stood at the base of the lake, looming over the rest of the school, its open windows watchful eyes. 

Though the tower was not technically locked – there _was_ a padlock, which certainly gave the appearance that it was inaccessible, but the lock had been broken many years ago – tradition barred entry to any students not in third year, and as such, it was the most coveted spot in the school. I had snuck up a couple of times with Oliver in the dead of night when nobody would see us, but it had never been ours; we had always been trespassers. No longer.

To this day the sight – or even the thought – of that tower makes me feel slightly ill, as though looking up at it will draw the events of that semester out of the murky haze of memory and back into stark clarity. 

I bounded up the last of the stairs, out of breath. 

Sure enough, all six of them stood in a nervous clump. When I rounded the corner, they all turned, gazes expectant.

“They had Rutledge sit in for you?” Audra asked, breathless. “What was it like? Did he ask anything different?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” I sat down hard on the windowsill. “I screwed up the beginning of my recit anyway.” 

Audra’s gaze felt weighted. 

“He didn’t ask for anything different.” I said, a little crossly. “It was just an audition.” 

“At least it’s over now, right?” Hannah didn’t tear her gaze from the lake, impossibly serene, sunlight filtering through her yellow-gold hair and highlighting the few freckles on her face. 

Gabriel heaved a sigh and turned to look over the campus grounds. Then, leaning against the windowsill, he sighed again. “Well, at any rate, it all belongs to us now.” 

Nobody had to ask what he meant. Up on that tower in the weak September sunlight, auditions behind us, it felt true.

The tower was constructed as though someone had at one point intended for it to be a landing pad for some sort of miniscule helicopter. At the north end of the tower, the walls disappeared, leaving an open space beyond which there was nothing but open air, and far below that, the rocky ground.

I knew from conversations with the staff that it was on the list for repairs, considering the giant hazard that it was, but as far as most of the staff knew, the tower was locked anyway, ignorant as they were to the state of the lock, so most of the repair budget went to more immediate concerns, like burst pipes.

Below us, students scuttled across the grounds like bugs, unaware of our watchful gaze. The grass sloped away from us towards the shimmering lake, brilliantly glassy in the afternoon sun. 

The unspoken tension hung in the air, a tangible thing. It was always like this after auditions. For the next several days all of us would be hungry with desire, searching for validation in our teacher’s eyes, every word to each other spoken with a competitive edge. It would all dissolve within a couple of days after the cast list was posted, and we’d fall back into our regular routines, but now we were all beside ourselves with a restless and frenetic energy. 

“Who do you think they’ll give it to?” Audra asked, not looking at any of us, but deliberately casting her gaze up at the ceiling. 

None of us answered her right away. Her question was such a deliberate fish for affirmation that I was surprised she had even asked it out loud. Of course we all knew who they would cast as the lead.

Conolly put on two opera productions each year: one at the end of the fall semester, and another in the winter.

The productions were things of legend. 

In the vocal department, by far the largest of the music faculties, each year had a different focus. In the first year, we studied song cycles and standalone repertoire, with competitions twice a semester. In second year, we hurtled backwards into the Renaissance then slowly inched our way into the study of Baroque oratorio. It was standard knowledge that the first two years were just warmup. In the third year, we took everything we had learned so far and combined it to tackle opera. 

In past years, we had all participated in the previous year’s operas, but only in secondary roles and as chorus members. To actually be on stage, playing the parts, was different. Third year meant lead roles.

Oliver was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking at Colin with barely disguised suspicion, afternoon sunlight catching in his hair and illuminating his dark skin. “Why do you always look like that?” 

Colin ducked his head. “And how’s that?” 

“You look like you _know_ something.”

Colin rolled his eyes, casting the ceiling a lofty glance. “Isn’t it obvious to the rest of you, though?” He shook his head, a savage lilt to his tone. “It has to be. I mean, we were all there. We’ve seen what usually happens.” 

I wanted to point out that we _hadn’t_ seen what happens since Hannah joined us. Instead I focused on keeping my face as neutral as possible. 

Audra was watching Colin with intense scrutiny, but she said nothing. 

“Enlighten us, then.” Gabriel looked amused. 

Gabriel always looked amused by Colin. The two tended to circle each other like cats in the wild, neither of them ever pouncing but both constantly waiting for it. Physically, Colin was wiry, no match for Gabriel, but we all knew he was as sharp as a whip and not somebody to cross. Gabriel knew it too, but he pushed anyway, doubtful and patronizing. 

“You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?” Colin’s face betrayed nothing, but he refused to elaborate. 

Audra, chagrined, cast an accusatory glare towards Gabriel. 

Hannah stood suddenly. “I think I need to distract myself.” 

“God, me too.” Audra leaned back against the wall.

“I’m happy to offer my services.” Gabriel winked, reaching a hand towards her, but Audra swatted him away, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m going to go down to the library.” Hannah announced stiffly, and with that, she turned around and left. 

“What’s up with her?” Cecily asked. 

“What’s ever _not_ up with her?” Colin ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head violently so that it stuck up in all directions. 

“Some people are just weird auditionees.” Gabriel shrugged. “She might be one of them.” 

Oliver ran his fingers along the outline of one of the stones in the wall. “Can’t really argue that _any_ of us handle auditions particularly well.” 

“I’ll prove you wrong there,” Cecily said, pushing herself off of the wall. “I’m going to go take a nap.” 

We erupted into a chorus of objections. It was a long-running joke that Cecily could sleep through anything, including, apparently, her own nerves. 

She smirked. “I’ll see you all later, then.” 

“We could take a nap too.” Gabriel winked at Audra as Cecily walked away. 

“Oh, go away.” Audra pushed off the wall, frowning, and flounced down the steps, though Gabriel followed close behind her, neither of them offering a backwards glance. 

Colin looked between Oliver and I for a moment, then quickly said, “Well, I guess I’m going too.” 

I closed my eyes, resting my head against the stone. 

There was silence after Colin left. 

“Are you two conspiring?” I didn’t open my eyes. 

“Leah…” Oliver sounded pained. 

“You know, I flopped the audition?” I finally cracked an eye open. “Is that your strategy now? Sabotage? Get me where it hurts right before something important?” 

He stiffened. “So, I can’t even talk to you? Just talking counts as sabotage? This was your idea, remember.” 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know that waiting until right before the audition to talk to me would be a little difficult.” I tried to inflect as much frost into my voice as possible. 

“I – what?” He shook his head, looking a little bewildered. “No. I just – Audra suggested you’d appreciate and so I thought-“ 

“Audra suggested it?” I was so surprised that I forgot to be hostile. 

He nodded. “I didn’t mean to make you throw your audition. Really.” 

“I can’t believe she would do that.” I rested the back of my head against the wall. 

“She probably didn’t do it on purpose. She probably thought she was doing something nice.” 

I turned and looked at him, trying to pour every ounce of doubt that I had into my expression. “That’s likely. Right.” 

“She wouldn’t sabotage you.” 

“And anyone with half a brain would know that talking to you is probably one of the last things I want to do right now.” 

The words were out before I could catch them. 

“Wonderful.” He drew himself up, appraising me with a cold look. “Well then, hope you have a wonderful afternoon. I won’t keep you any longer.” 

“Oliver, wait –”

He was already turning to go down the stairs. 

“I didn’t mean it.” 

He didn’t turn back. 

-

My time at Conolly was defined by waiting. Waiting for my turn to sing, waiting for rehearsals to start or end, waiting for exam results.

The worst sort, though, was waiting for cast lists to be posted. The night it was due to go up, I found myself pacing at our dorm room until Cecily, driven to distraction by my impatience, threw her arms in the air and suggested that we go down to dinner a few minutes early. 

We weren’t the only ones who’d had the idea. 

Audra sat at the table, her hands cupped around a hot mug of tea, staring into it, looking a bit queasy. Next to her, Colin slouched over a book, frowning down at the pages. 

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” Audra looked up as we approached, eyes wide. “Can you believe it?” 

I sat down across from her and leaned forward to rest my forehead on the wooden table. “I just want to get this over with.” 

Colin, without looking up from his page, grunted. “You and me both.” 

Of the three remaining boys, Colin was by far the most pragmatic and the least emotional, and that had brought us together. Even when there were fourteen of us, we had seemed like such an odd set of people that sometimes I wondered if we would have gotten along if we hadn’t been forced to. I never voiced those thoughts aloud, in fear that it would somehow come back to bite me, but I did feel that Colin and I would have chosen to be friends in any case. 

Cecily chewed the corner of her thumbnail as she stared at the empty bulletin board. 

“They don’t post it until six,” Audra remarked, though it didn’t need to be said, and stood, taking her mug with her to peer out the window into the oncoming evening. 

“Speculations?” I turned so that my cheek pressed against the table. 

Colin leaned back a little, cocking his head. “Well, it’s the magic flute. So there are plenty of lead roles.”

“You don’t have to dumb it down for me.” I rolled my eyes, sitting up straight and leaning forward on my elbows “I get it, you did your research. So did I.”

I had, in a very peripheral fashion. It was impossible to get this far in the music community without at least a baseline familiarity with the opera: a prince who must complete a series of tasks in order to marry a princess, involving a strange little bird man, a priest, and a strange and mysterious queen.

He jerked his head towards Audra, leaned in closely, and whispered. “Pamina. Obviously.” 

The princess. I nodded. “Obviously.”

“Gabriel will be Tamino.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “They’ll give Sorastro to Oliver.” 

The prince and the priest. “If they cast predictably.” 

“Of course they’ll cast predictably.” Colin crossed his arms. “It’s our third year. They can’t afford to take risks. And we know they won’t be willing to hazard a poor performance.” 

“Okay,” I glanced over my shoulder. “If you’re so sure, who will I be?” 

“You and Cecily will be the ladies. Since there are three, they’ll pull from second year, but you’ll probably be first.” 

The ladies were peripheral roles, so I didn’t find this too surprising.

He paused. “Hannah will be the queen.” 

“Well that goes without saying.” I rested my chin on my hand. “And you?” 

“Papageno. The _bird_ boy.” He said, with a slight eye roll. “They wouldn’t be able to resist that.” 

“Because you’re _such_ a ladies man, as we all know.” I smirked. 

Colin made a face. “Oh, I’m desperate for a wife. I just wish I’d get something interesting. Oliver always has all the fun being the villain.” 

“You can’t imagine how wonderful it is to be a secondary character _every_ time.” I poked his shoulder. “The glory and praise and adoring fans can get a little much.” 

The door to the dining room opened with a bang as Gabriel entered, followed by Oliver.

“Speak of the devil.” Colin muttered.

I looked down at the table, but not before I saw Hannah slip in behind them.

I heard the flip of his watch as Oliver checked the time. “Should be any second now, right?”

Audra’s heels clicked on the floor, and when I looked up, Gabriel had taken both of her hands in his and was massaging them. He caught my eye and winked. I looked away quickly. 

Oliver sat down on Colin’s other side, picked up the abandoned book, and began paging through it wordlessly. I wondered at his ability to focus so intently until I realized that his eyes weren’t moving as he turned the pages. 

Hannah, to my surprise, took the seat next to mine, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and offering me a wan smile. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “All right. You? You’re probably feeling pretty confident.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

I realized I was worrying at the edge of my index fingernail and flattened my palms against the table. “Well. You know. You’re incredible. You could get Pamina.”

“I hope I won’t.” Hannah looked a little flustered. “That’s nice of you, though.”

“Well, it’s true. Why don’t you want the lead?”

“I’m playing the long game this year.” She murmured. “I’ve heard that next semester they might be doing _La Sonnambula._ I’ve always wanted to play Amina.”

I nodded. “Smart. Audra’ll want the lead both semesters though, you know.” 

She shrugged. “She has to know that’s unlikely. They won’t cast the same person as the lead twice. She can’t be upset.” 

I glanced over at Audra, who was listening with rapt attention as Gabriel whispered in her ear. 

“I’ve known her longer than you have. She’ll be upset no matter what.” 

Hannah’s smile was thin. “At least you don’t have to room with her.”

In those days I would never have said that Audra was _unpleasant_ , exactly. High strung, maybe. Arrogant, a little. She definitely knew what she was capable of and refused to accept anything less from herself. She demanded respect, and we gave it.

Although I wouldn’t have called us friends, I certainly didn’t think there was much animosity between us. I had never posed much threat to her, or at least, that’s what she thought, if she was still unaware of everything that had happened last year, but that was beside the point. All of us had been warned by teachers that we couldn’t allow ourselves to hold onto any bitterness towards each other. Dr. Davis had told us early in our first year that while we were students at Connolly, we were allies. If we chose to make enemies, that would follow us all the way to our professional career. As prickly as Audra could be when tensions were high, even she knew that. 

The roll up shutter at the far end of the dining room rattled as it was lifted, signaling the start of dinner. Ordinarily that would be enough to rouse us from where we sat, but none of us moved, staring at the bulletin board where we knew the cast list would be posted.

I found myself biting the corner of my nail again. 

When the door opened again and Dr. Davis walked through, Colin stood up, chair scraping. 

All chatter died as she made her way across the dining room, skirt swishing, the list gripped in her hand.

Dr. Davis was one of the vocal professors at Conolly. I’d studied with her all of the previous year and I had her again this year, but I still upheld her in muted awe, and admired everything about her from her short dark hair to the assured way she carried herself.

We all stared at her in rapt silence as she stood with her back to us, pinning the list to the board with meticulous care. Then she turned, and without a word, walked back out, though I could have sworn I could see the ghost of a smile on her face.

The seconds until she left the room felt like hours. 

I held my breath. Even though I knew I probably wouldn’t get a lead, my heart still stuttered in my chest, a frantic and anticipatory creature. 

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Colin was off like a shot. He yanked the list right off of the board, but Gabriel, right behind him, ripped it from his grasp, and surveyed it, eyes hungry. 

“Careful!” Cecily insisted. 

None of the rest of us moved. Colin peered over his shoulder. 

“Is it good?” Audra’s voice was high pitched. 

Gabriel walked over slowly, still reading, then placed it on the table, flattening it with his palm. 

We all crammed around it, most of us having to crane our necks to see. 

**The Conolly Institute for the Performing Arts Production Fall 1989**

**Die Zauberfl** **ö** **te - Cast List**

**Tamino:** Gabriel Morrow

 **Papageno:** Colin Thorpe

 **Pamina:** Audra Daly

 **The Queen of the Night:** Hannah Frazier

 **Sarastro:** Oliver Gray

**Three Ladies:**

  1. Leah Woodley
  2. Mariah Kennedy
  3. Cecily Preece



“I told you.” Colin was at my elbow. “Was I not exactly, one hundred percent spot on?” 

All of us had made it into the top roles. The rest of them, I saw as I scanned the page, went to second year students. Then I squinted at the page. Mariah Kennedy.

“You were wrong about one thing.” I reached over and tapped the page. “This must be a first year, not a second. I don’t recognize her name.”

“Oh, what _ever_.” Colin scoffed. “I was right about everything _important_.”

Cecily made a very skeptical noise in the back of her throat. “A first year? She must be _really_ good.”

Audra, face buried in her hands, stood at the edge of the group, but as I watched, she peered up at Gabriel through her fingers. “Did I really get it?” Her voice was imploring. “Or did I dream it?”

All seven of us filled the hall with our chatter, until a disgruntled second year grabbed the list and walked away with it. 

“You really did get it.” Hannah was beaming. “Congratulations!” 

Gabriel pulled Audra into a hug. “Look at us. Offstage _and_ on.”

She rolled her eyes, but I thought she looked pleased.

I couldn’t help myself. I glanced at Oliver. He wasn’t looking at me, or at anyone, instead, his eyes were trained on the list, brows knitted together as though he found it perplexing.

“’Least now everything can go back to normal.” Colin was saying to Cecily as I turned back toward them. “It’s about time, too.” 

“I’m glad Audra got the role.” Cecily noted darkly, voice quiet. “It’d have been a hellish semester if she hadn’t.” 

I swatted her arm, warning. “Careful.” 

“I’m just saying!” She put her hands up in surrender. “It’s true and you know it.” 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean you should say it so loud.” Colin advised. 

He was right. Even if it was true, we kept everything unpleasant under wraps back then. If something didn’t have to be said, it wasn’t addressed. It might have been dysfunctional, but at Conolly, that was survival.


	4. Chapter 4

Tucked away behind the sweeping turrets of the main hall, the third-year dormitories clung long and low to the ground, stone on the outside, stone on the inside. Cecily griped endlessly about the cold, the way the wind leaked through around the edges of the windows, but I didn’t mind.

The adjacent wings were filled with other third years, musicians and dancers and actors alike. Though we would pass each other in the hallways with a curt nod or a quick hello, faculties tended to keep separate.

The seven of us were split into three rooms: Cecily and I nearest to the tunnel that connected the dorms to the rest of the school, Audra and Hannah next door, and the boys across the hall. 

The rooms were small, dark, and cramped, with enough space to move around, but not much more. Inside, each room was identical: two twin beds pressed against the walls and two tiny desks facing the window. Long heavy drapes served the purpose of keeping both the cold and the light out. On move-in day, Cecily had pulled down the heavy curtains and replaced them with blinds, and we had scraped our meagre savings together to purchase a small floor heater. 

Each room contained a single rotary phone. The number for the phone in our room was one digit off from the boy’s room, and Audra seemed to continually forget this, much to my chagrin. Multiple times already it had rung late at night, and blearily, I had answered only to hear her exasperated sigh and then a click. 

Cecily and I had been roommates since our first year. It was an unspoken agreement among our group that we should leave roommate assignment to chance to avoid hurt feelings, but it was our secret that we had both requested each other for our second and now third years. I enjoyed how relatively uncomplicated our dynamic was, and privately I could not have imagined rooming with either Audra or Hannah – Hannah because I was still intimidated by her, and Audra because she was Audra. This wasn’t to say I didn’t enjoy their company; I enjoyed the company of all of them, but I was quite glad not to be privy to the more intimate aspects of Gabriel and Audra’s relationship. The two of them had been together since halfway through our first year at Conolly, with tumultuous ups and downs in between. They fought loudly and made up even louder, which I found especially annoying, since I knew all about the ugliness that lay beneath their picture-perfect exterior. Several nights so far had ended with Hannah sitting on one of our beds waiting for the storm to pass. 

The real luxury of the third-year dorm was the lounge. Each wing had their own, which meant that the seven of us had it to ourselves. Despite the fact that the couches were old and peeling, and the wall on the far side of the room was perpetually damp, I spent many hours sequestered there that year, finding much solace in watching the rain patter against the window – which happened a lot – and then later, watching flakes of snow drift lazily by – which happened even more. 

-

That semester we settled into our new habits remarkably fast. The first staging class of the semester was upon us before any of us had taken a chance to breathe. 

We'd had scripts and music assigned to us the day after the cast listing, and it was with an apprehension that we filed through the door into the gloom of Dr. Ritter's classroom. 

Opera was foreign territory to us. It meant taking everything we had ever learned about music and bringing it to life. 

Once we had settled, Dr. Ritter pressed his fingers together into a steeple. "Staging. This, above all else, is what takes the music and turns it into a story." 

Dr. Ritter was quite young for a professor, a rather odd sort of fellow. He wore a jacket several sizes too large that was patched at the elbows, and walked with a stoop. His gruff Slavic accent only added to his reputation among the theatre majors of taking no nonsense from anybody, and his classes were known to be rigorous. 

I was somewhat familiar with him, having attended several of his workshops the previous year, yet despite this, we all upheld him with a kind of muted awe. 

His classroom was just behind the stage, and I knew that the wooden double doors behind his desk led into the wings. During production time, the room was transformed into a green room, with props and costumes everywhere. Now, stripped of its frenzied décor, I thought the room looked hollow, but something about it whispered an anticipatory promise. 

He peered at us from under his dark, bushy eyebrows. "Tell me what separates a good actor from a great actor." 

For an unbearable second, the room was utterly silent. Then, hesitant, Hannah raised her hand. 

He glanced down at his sheet of paper. "Miss Frazier." 

"A good actor is playing a character." She spoke steadily." A great actor is convinced of the character. They are inside the character's skin." 

A slow smile broadened his face. "Exactly. Well done. In opera, everything is drama. It takes much skill to convince an audience that you mean it." 

He gestured for us to stand. "Take a moment. Get mobile." 

As we moved through the motions of a warmup, I caught Colin's eye. 

He mouthed, "Everything is drama."

I grinned. 

I was a little disappointed to find out that even after such a dramatic opening statement, that first class taught us next to nothing about acting. 

Well, it taught us mere mortals next to nothing about acting.

Dr. Ritter had us stand in a circle and practice fluid movements, working together to pass a ball back and forth without indicating anything with our words. 

“It is most important," He said, pacing around us, "to be able to communicate with only your face. When your audience doesn’t know what you are singing about, you have to find a different way to tell them.” 

He paused beside Hannah and observed her for a moment. “Exactly.” He beamed. He gripped her shoulder and motioned for the movement of the ball to stop. “That is _exactly_ what you need to do.” 

He motioned for all of us to watch. He had Hannah stand in the center of us. 

“What you want is for your motivations to be clear.” He said. “That is the most important thing.” He turned Hannah so she was facing him. “If I ask you for sadness, what will you give me?” 

It was like watching her turn into a different person in a flip of a switch. 

Hannah was a bit of an enigma to me still. From the moment she had arrived I had found myself intrigued by her. She gave away little about herself in day to day life, and maybe it was just that mystery, but all of us found ourselves stunned by her, and just as equally drawn in. It was hard to say whether it was our group that had welcomed her, or her that had welcomed us. 

Either way, she was one of us now, and her talent could not be argued. 

Dr. Ritter walked her through the different emotions, guiding her periodically in small adjustments she could make, but she sailed through it. 

I found myself watching her like a person entranced. She made it look simple, easy, in a way that I had never found. Expression was my weakest area. For her it looked like second nature. 

“That is how you do it!” Dr. Ritter exclaimed proudly. He was beaming from ear to ear. Hannah’s ears flushed red under his scrutiny. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Audra roll her eyes. 

“Now pair up.” He said. “Show each other what you can do.” 

Though Oliver was closest to me, I quickly turned to Colin. He grinned lazily, stretching out his hand and guiding me away from the group. 

“Not so keen on Mr. Grey at the moment?” He kept his eyes trained on me. 

I shook my head, trying not to betray anything on my face. “You really do see everything.” I muttered. 

“It’s my greatest point of pride.” He muttered. 

“I want you to be mirrors.” Dr. Ritter was saying. “Mirror each other. One of you is the leader, the other one follows.” 

“I just don’t feel up to all that much intimate eye contact.” I murmured as Colin rearranged his features into something like neutral. 

“No need to be intimate.” Colin said, stone faced. It was odd to hear his lilting tone without the smirk to accompany it. “We’re acting, remember? I’ll lead, you follow.” 

The class flew by without further incident as Dr. Ritter led us through various emotions. 

Afterwards, I approached Hannah. “Have you taken acting classes before?” 

She was shrugging on her jacket, but she looked up at me with mild surprise. “No.” She said. “Nothing outside of what we’ve done here.” 

“Well, you’re really good at it.” I smiled in a way that I hoped was encouraging rather than patronizing. 

She shot me a grateful look as Audra stalked past us and out the door without saying anything. Gabriel was quick on her heels, dashing out without a backwards look. 

Hannah sighed. “I hope this doesn’t last.” 

“What do you mean?” I fell in step with her as we left. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” Hannah threw her long braid over her shoulder. “She’s not exactly my biggest fan. I might have to do some damage control.” 

“She’s just jealous.” I said. “It’s not exactly unwarranted either, you know.” 

She hushed me sharply. “I don’t need any more encouragement of that.” Furtively, she whispered. “She’s my roommate. She can be… difficult when she feels she’s been wronged.” 

“But she hasn’t.” I said matter-of-factly. “She has the top role, doesn’t she?” 

Hannah looked pensively at the door through which Audra had disappeared, and sighed. “This semester.” 

-

Due to the miniscule size of our third year faculties, classes were small enough that especially by then, I knew almost everyone in the room, at least by face if not by name. 

I was choosing to minor in history, as an advisor had suggested in my first year. 

There was something a little bit thrilling about a career in the performing arts. It was good to have a back up plan, the advisor had told me. Connolly rarely accommodated double majors, as their program was so rigidly structured that it allowed little room for adjustment. I chose history because it seemed like the best option to teach if performing failed. 

Not that I was particularly worried. Connolly’s reputation was good enough that most who graduated there didn’t find it particularly difficult to get work afterwards, and since I had made it to the third year, I felt I would do just fine. 

Besides, I loved history. I had two different history classes – one music history, required for all vocal majors – and one that went toward my minor, and Gabriel was in both of them. 

On the first official day after syllabus review, he sat down beside me without a word, slamming his books onto his desk. 

I winced. 

Dr. Blackburn was one of my favourite professors – barring Dr. Davis, of course – and I always looked forward to his classes. I knew he would challenge us, and I appreciated that. 

“And so we enter into the classical period.” He said, sweeping a spindly arm across the room, greying hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Many of our most widely recognized performing artists, poets and writers lived in this era - as by that point historians had gotten the hang of actually writing things down – Mozart, Beethoven, Poussin, Alighieri, and many beyond.” 

“I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,” Gabriel murmured to me, “to the short day and to the whitening hills…” 

“We will be studying these figures at great length.” Blackburn’s enthusiasm rose, his voice a little louder. “You will need to keep your wits about you as we proceed – remember that nothing is ever as it seems when taken at face value.”

“The language gets simpler, but the meaning becomes more subtle.” Gabriel said aloud. 

Dr. Blackburn nodded, his eyes far away. “Perhaps, but more simple is not the right way to come at it. It may be said that it is simple, but I would argue that it is more a case of the language becoming closer to what we understand.” 

“Mais qu'est-ce que la simplicité sinon celle que nous comprenons?” Gabriel responded smoothly. 

_But what is simplicity if not that which we understand?_ My French was passable at best, and I hadn’t mastered the language the same way Gabriel had. I didn’t have his nearly photographic memory, and besides that, languages didn’t come easily to me, but even so, I always found myself striving to keep up with him. 

Dr. Blackburn brightened. “Assimiler la compréhension à la simplicité est une transgression des plus fétides, cela peut être convenu." He responded. 

_To equate understanding with simplicity is a transgression most foul, it can be agreed._

“Mais, tout ne peut pas être généralisé de la façon dont vous pourriez penser.” He folded his hands in front of him, facing Gabriel entirely. 

_But, not everything can be generalized the way you might think._

Most of the class, myself included, was straining to keep up, and Gabriel must have realized this, for when he spoke again, it was thankfully in English. 

“There are, of course, subtleties in the works produced by earlier authors,” He said, “But as we grow into more fully formed societies, it cannot be argued that thought becomes more complicated.” 

It was not a question. That was how Gabriel did things: never by half, and with full confidence that he was right. I would know.

Dr. Blackburn paused, considering. He was not unused to Gabriel’s tendency to debate in class, and most of us agreed that he secretly enjoyed it very much, just based on the way that he tended to egg him on. “In that, you are right.” Then he turned and began scribbling furiously on the blackboard. 

When Gabriel spoke again, it was quiet, and directed towards me. “I always am.” 

-

Weekends at Conolly, especially in those early weeks, we were blessed with glorious long afternoons, most of which we spent outside in the grounds. In those late-September days, it was hot, and it wasn’t unusual find the seven of us down by the lake, lazing in the long grass.

Well, some of us lazed.

Cecily and I, with our minor opera roles, often took to laying flat on our backs, watching the clouds drift overhead, insects buzzing, grass swishing around us in the wind.

The others, preoccupied by the task of memorizing an entire opera in three months, were most often buried in their scripts, offensively sturdy looking documents at which I turned up my nose, unwilling to admit that my distaste stemmed from jealousy.

Today, though, in a rare display, none of us were working.

Audra lay with her head in Gabriel’s lap, nose in a book, which was as close as she ever got to taking time off. Gabriel, absently stroking her hair, watched the lake with a pensive expression, dark hair stark against the white of the dried grass. Dark clouds loomed, far enough away to be only vaguely threatening, easy to ignore in the bright warmth of the sunshine.

Hannah lay on her back a few feet away, one hand resting against her chest. She looked asleep, but I knew she wasn’t, just moments ago her eyes had opened to track a bird swoop across the sky above her. The sight of her lying there made me think of all of the stories I’d read of princesses cursed to eternal sleep. She certainly looked like a princess laying there, cheeks rosy, hair golden. In another reality, she might have been dead.

Colin lay, potentially dozing, his journal laying open and covering his face, spine towards the sky. One hand rested against it, protective, but his eyes were covered, so I admired the journal with an open interest I would never have allowed if I’d known he could see me.

Colin’s journal, over the course of it’s two-year career, had become a Conolly legend. Bound in sleek dark brown leather, small enough to fit in the inside pocket of his favourite tweed blazer, he carried everywhere with him, and according to almost anyone you asked, it contained the secrets of three-quarters of the student body. And that was a modest estimate. As far as I knew, no one but Colin had seen the contents. I wasn’t sure exactly how he managed to unearth the truth about so many people in such a short amount of time, but that was the thing about Colin. He knew how to find trigger points and precisely when to press them. I’d told him plenty of my own secrets without meaning to, without realizing that they’d end up in the book.

Colin knew all of my secrets but one.

I glanced to where Oliver sat as he stared not out over the lake, but behind us, up at the school. I knew without following his gaze that he was looking at the tower, his eyes cast upwards. He was pretty in a way I thought was unfair, black hair falling just so, dark skin bronzed by a summer spent outside. He was prettier than some girls I knew, fine-boned, searching green eyes framed by long lashes. I thought he was somewhat painfully attractive, and so I looked, drawn by the stabbing ache that accompanied the act of watching.

Cecily, as she often did, had taken to braiding my hair in intricate loops, which meant that when Oliver looked over, I couldn’t turn away.

There was a suspended moment where we both watched each other openly, and then his eyes darted up towards the sky. He didn’t look back.

Audra put her book down and sighed contentedly. “I’m so glad auditions are over.” 

“Auditions were nearly two weeks ago,” Oliver pointed out without looking at her. “They’ve been over for a while.” 

“Still.” She brushed him off. “Can you believe it’s really our last year?” 

Gabriel laughed. “Cheers to all of our fallen friends.” 

“What do you think they’re all doing now?” Cecily mused, fingers working through a tangle without much gentleness.

I winced.

“Sorry.”

Nobody answered her.

It was odd thinking about all the people who had been cut. One exam, and then half of us were gone, just like that. Seven others left for home the week before any of us had needed to. It was part of the ritual, part of the culling, for all of us who were invited to come back to stay for an extra week of preparation in which the professors would drill into us the expectations of the following year. It had been a strange, disconcerting week, and I’d been simultaneously thrilled that I had made it and sad for all of those who hadn’t. 

I couldn’t stay sad, though, even then, even when it was fresh. The knowledge that I had succeeded tended to drown out any sympathy I might have felt towards my less fortunate colleagues. I remembered them now rather wistfully, as one might remember childhood imaginary friends. As I had been thrust into the demands of the new year so thoroughly, they were shadows of their true selves in my mind. There was a reason they hadn’t got in and I had, I found myself thinking, unable or perhaps unwilling to think of how much I missed them.

“So, Mozart.” Gabriel said, steepling his long fingers and surveying us.

“God,” Colin scoffed from underneath his journal, apparently awake, “Please. Haven’t we been talking about Mozart enough already?” 

“Isn’t that the glory of productions though?” Hannah asked thoughtfully, as she sat up. The sunlight caught in her gossamer hair and was held there, glittering. “We have to eat, sleep, breathe the music, content, and ideas in order to really produce them well, don’t we?” 

Audra agreed, enthusiasm evident. “I’ve been reading _so_ much about the Magic Flute.”

Colin groaned. 

“You’ve been reading ever since it was announced last year.” Cecily pointed out, not accusingly. 

“And what about it?” Audra asked, turning her head to fix her with a straight stare. “It’s important to know what I’m auditioning for before I go into it.” 

I had to admire her work ethic. I tended to concentrate the extent of my efforts toward the musical aspect of performing rather than the theoretical. I still can’t really find it within myself to downplay that though – I remember the long hours in the practice rooms quite vividly. Music school was not something to be trifled with, and adding an academic minor meant that even though the term had just started I was already swamped with papers and reading assignments, my head swimming with due dates and historical events. I wasn’t sure how either Audra or Hannah found the time for all their extra research. Sometimes I pictured them huddled under the covers at night, both holding flashlights too close to one of the many books they always seemed to have on hand. 

“I can’t argue with that.” Cecily sighed, and then proceeded to do just that. “Don’t you worry about having _too_ much of an academic approach, though?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Audra’s voice was just a little bit higher than usual. 

I silently willed Cecily to stop talking, to shut up. I didn’t want our time out to turn into one of their spats. 

“Sometimes it’s important to step back and consider how the music sits with you.” Hannah interjected smoothly. “You have to think about how the story hits you, what it means to you. I think that changes a lot of how you present it, and it’s sure a lot more important than how much you know about the context of the opera. Not to say that it’s not important.” She added hurriedly, seeing the look on Audra’s face. “I’m just saying that you have to add your own subtext.” 

For a moment it looked like Audra had a scathing retort ready, but I saw Gabriel find her arm and squeeze gently, and she bit it back. “That’s true.” She said, a little shortly. She waited until Hannah wasn’t looking before she shot her a withering look. 

There was a moment’s pause. 

“So, _Mozart_.” Colin said glumly, finally closing his journal to shoot us a wry grimace, and then we were all laughing, and everything was fine. 

That’s how it was, with us. I still think that we were often defined by extremes. It was the only way we worked together without being propelled purely by the constant desire to strangle each other. The performers stereotype. I was and still am aware of what response that might evoke in some people, but it was true. We were all people who thrived on intensity, and we provided it for each other in strong doses. I don’t think any of us could have survived without that intensity driving us, except Oliver, perhaps. He carried calm around him wherever he went, a surety that I was never sure was honest, but even if it wasn’t, it was convincing. 

Oliver watched the sky with open apprehension. The wall of dark clouds was advancing on us, and I felt a sudden chill at the bite of wind.

“I think it might rain.” He spoke softly.

“Let it.” Gabriel leaned back in the grass. “I’m not afraid of rain.”

“No one said you were.” Colin sat up, rolling his eyes as he shoved his journal inside his jacket pocket.

I noted, with some strange twist of emotion, that Oliver’s eyes had been tracking it too.

The wind whispered through the grass. Cecily undid the braid and let my hair fall around my shoulders, crawling around from behind me to be in the group.

I wondered if Oliver was still upset with me for what I’d said on the tower. I knew he had every right to be, but I hadn’t meant it, and I didn’t know how to tell him that. Before we’d broken up, he’d been my best friend at Conolly. He’d been my best friend even before we’d started dating, and now we were strangers.

A raindrop spattered my shoulder. A second landed on my nose.

“It’s coming.” Hannah said, and she stood.

I caught Cecily tossing a dirty look in Hannah’s direction, and wondered, not for the first time, why she disliked her so much. I’d asked her before, more than once, but she’d never given me a straight answer.

A third droplet landed on my ankle, a fourth above my eyebrow, and then they were coming so quickly that I couldn’t keep up.

“It’s coming fast!” Colin exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Forget this, I’m going inside.”

“I’m not afraid of rain!” Gabriel objected again, but as it began to fall, faster and faster, he scrambled to his feet, laughing, and began to run back toward the castle, dragging Audra behind him.

Then we were all running, and the rain caught up to us, drenching us, but it didn’t matter. We were all laughing, screeching objections, but the rain was warm, and I felt lighter than I had in months.

Hannah slowed to a stop, flung her arms out, and spun, face up towards the heavens, and I caught the look on her face: joy. It was the first and last time I ever saw her like that, fiercely elated by life, and it lit me ablaze too, so I stopped and stood with her as the others kept running toward the castle.

The rain poured down, running off of my face in rivulets, but I stood there and let it drench me, my laughter a bright bubble in my chest.

When I opened my eyes, Hannah was beaming at me.

“It’ll wash away anything, if you let it.” She said, and there was something in her face that made my heart squeeze tight. “Anything.”

It was almost like she knew.

Maybe she did, already, months before I ever told her. I never found out.


	5. 4.

Master classes at Connolly were likely one of the largest sources of stress for the general student body. In the vocal faculty, they happened every week, as part of our regular academic schedule, and we were required to bring repertoire from outside of our opera material, which meant extra memorization, extra practice, extra work. Though we all complained incessantly about the additional hours in our already cramped schedules, none of us could truly object. The merit in the process was visible even an untrained eye.

I was fortunate that memorization came easily to me. It wasn’t a point of pride, exactly, as I was surrounded by people to whom memorization came easily – with the exception of Oliver, perhaps, who fought tooth and nail to get repertoire to stick – but the skill made my life easier, and with the rate at which music was being thrown at us, it took every ounce of hard work in me in addition to any natural ability I’d come to Conolly with to stay on top of it. 

Master classes were by far the most intimate of our classes. When we gathered, it was just the seven of us, and Dr. Davis and Dr. Richards, the vocal faculty representatives.

We met in the theatre, where every sound was amplified. I loved the acoustics in that room; it took every sound we made and exaggerated it – the high notes soared, loud became even louder – so of course, all mistakes were much more apparent. It was the perfect space in which to take our progress and strip it down to something we no longer recognized.

On that particular day, I was not on the list to sing, so I just sat back to watch. 

It didn't feel like it at the time, or maybe I was just oblivious to the tensions that were already brewing just beneath the surface, but that day was the first of many face-offs between our two top sopranos. 

I had been looking forward to that masterclass, because I hadn't yet heard either Hannah or Audra sing individually that year.

The first master class after the break was always the most exciting. Being a vocal student – or any music student, really – was a little like being an athlete. None of us could never stop, or take time off for the holidays, or we'd fall behind, so we all knew that theoretically, at the start of every school year, we could expect some improvements in our peers from the year before due to a summer of independent practice. Despite this, I was still quite surprised when I heard the singers that day. 

Dr. Davis, the official head of the vocal department and the professor responsible for all second and third year female singers, rummaged around in her bag, before she pulled out a sheet of paper and adjusted her glasses to read it properly. 

“Let’s start with Colin, today.” 

He swung himself up off his seat and in front of us. “Alright.” He looked down at his feet, and as our accompanist started towards the piano, he waved her off. “I’m acapella today, thanks. For the vulnerability, and all that.” He winked at Dr. Richards, who did not so much as move a muscle. 

It was common knowledge that the boys were all trying to crack Dr. Richards. He was the faculty member responsible for all the male vocal students, and I had never seen him smile. He always wore the same thing: grey shirt, grey slacks, with suspenders. He was known in his diction classes for being a menace of a professor, and I knew that next semester I would have to deal with him, but for now, as I had for the previous years, I watched him from afar, glad I wasn’t one of his students. 

Colin was taking a deep breath, eyes closed, rocking back and forth a little bit in preparation. 

“Steady.” Dr. Richards voice was serious, verging on condemning. 

Colin stopped rocking. 

He opened his eyes. “Today I will be singing _Un furtiva lagrima_ from Donizetti’s _L’elisir D’amore_.” He took a moment to prepare, and somehow, in the space between breaths, he had become a different person, dark, tragic, secretive.

I always wondered how he did this. Both he – and apparently Hannah – had this seemingly innate ability, and I never quite understood how it was done.

Colin’s mournful voice echoed in the cavernous chamber. I listened to his rapturous cadenza with my eyes closed, relishing the rich tone.

When he finished, he listened with close respect as Dr. Davis and Dr. Richards gave their feedback. I was glad I wasn’t singing that day, as his was not an act I wanted to follow. 

I didn’t often daydream during masterclasses, but I found my attention wandering when I caught Gabriel’s eye from across the room. He was looking at me as though he wanted me to notice something, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Audra was walking up to the stage, looking as tightly wound as I’d ever seen her. I looked over at Gabriel, who glanced at Hannah and then back at me.

Then I understood.

When Audra sang, it was with defiance. She’d picked a fiery aria, and as the accompanist frantically tried to keep up, she balled her fist in the fabric of her skirt, using it as a prop to demonstrate her character’s fury.

Usually when Audra performed, Gabriel watched with open admiration, but today his brows were knitted together, and as he stroked his chin, I caught a glimpse of a side of him that he usually kept under wraps.

Gabriel was nervous.

Hannah was watching Audra too, her face cool and neutral, but when Audra finished her piece, she was the only one who didn’t clap.

Something had happened between Audra and Hannah since our afternoon out, and this was her way of saying that it wasn’t over.

I craned my neck to see if I could catch Colin’s eye, but he was, for once, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the girls, muttering to himself as he scribbled notes furiously in his notebook.

The silence that fell when Hannah was called to sing next was not unusual, but because of what I had seen, I felt stiff in my seat, uncomfortable with the icy glance that passed between her and Audra.

This, I realized, was a competition, those of us in the audience the unwitting judges.

The winner was clear before the song had even begun. Where Audra was tightly wound, Hannah was elastic, Audra’s fury a sparkling contrast to Hannah’s demeanour. Hannah, I realized, had nothing to lose. Audra was as high up as she could get, and all she could do was wait to be toppled.

Hannah sang like a summer breeze. Easy, naturally, everything I fought for tooth and nail to achieve was hers with seemingly no effort. It occurred to me, right then, that I could have resented her for it, but when the thought came, I dismissed it. It was easy to daydream about resenting Audra, because she went to such lengths to ensure we knew she was good at what she did. Hannah didn’t need to tell us she was good. She just was.

I think that if any of us hadn’t known it before that moment, we all did then.

The air shimmered, full of her melody, the piano only a background. Hannah needed nothing from the accompaniment, she filled the room on her own. She’d chosen a warmer, more sonorous piece. I knew it, had studied it the year before, and even though it was meant for a lower mezzo-soprano voice like mine – and Hannah was a lyrical soprano – she suited it well. I was starting to wonder: was there anything Hannah wasn’t suited for?

I risked a glance at Audra, who was sitting, stony faced, her gaze fixed on a point just above Hannah’s head. She made no effort to conceal her hostility, and for a moment, I felt the fear on Gabriel’s face echoed on mine.

What if that moment was the last straw, and nothing would be the same again after this? I couldn’t bear the thought. The group – our group – had seemed impenetrable, and I’d assumed we’d stay that way forever. The squabbles would always be pushed aside, differences forgotten. How else would we survive the year? For the first time, I considered what it might look like if things fell apart. It had almost happened, after Oliver and I had broken up. It was part of why I had ended things too, not the only reason, but a large one. We were a family, and we couldn’t – shouldn’t – be broken.

“What a marvellous rendition!” Dr. Davis stood up as she congratulated Hannah.

I didn’t look at Audra, but I didn’t have to look to know how she was feeling. A standing ovation from Dr. Davis was rare enough that everybody in the room sat up a little straighter in their chairs to listen.

“I think you captured the essence of the character wonderfully. What was your subtext?”

Hannah flushed. “I researched the opera.”

Dr. Ritter was nodding.

“I found out that she was singing about her hometown,” Hannah fiddled with the button on her blazer, “So I thought about mine.”

“Excellent use of the personal context.” Dr. Davis gestured to Hannah’s hands. “Though the hands can be used to display a character’s emotion, it takes much more concentration to display it using just the face.”

Only then did I look at Audra. Two pink spots had risen on her cheeks, and she sat, lips pursed, staring at the floorboards. _She_ had used her hands in her aria, and though Dr. Ritter had been complementary, she had not been anywhere near as delighted as she was with Hannah.

I didn’t listen after that. I couldn’t concentrate, and everyone else seemed to be as restless as I felt as Dr. Davis walked through a stanza of the song with Hannah.

When she dismissed us, Audra was the first up, and she stalked out of the room, white faced and tight lipped.

-

I wasn’t surprised when there was a knock on our door later that night. Cecily snapped her sketchbook shut, casting me a look that clearly communicated that it was my job to open the door.

Hannah was standing in the hallway wearing a large t-shirt, with her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s awful.”

I beckoned her in to the room, shaking my head and wrapping my sweater more tightly around me. “I’m sorry she’s being such a pain.”

Hannah sat gingerly on the edge of my bed. “It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it?” Cecily was rummaging in her drawers, her back to us. She pulled a large sweater out and yanked it over her head.

“Audra has Gabriel over.”

Cecily and I exchanged a look.

“They had an argument…” Hannah looked at me pointedly. “Yesterday.”

Cecily wrinkled her nose. “So they’re making up tonight.”

Hannah sighed. “She usually doesn’t bring him into the room while I’m trying to sleep. She promised she wouldn’t at the beginning of the year, but...”

“But because she’s being awful…” I didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“ _You_ think she’s being awful, too? It isn’t just me?” Hannah looked both surprised and hopeful.

“Of course she is.” Cecily snorted, tucking her knees up to her chest as she relaxed once more on the bed.

“She’s just jealous. She’s just… being Audra.” I couldn’t find a better way to describe it. “I think it’s more intense this year because there aren’t so many of us.”

“Everything is different this year.” Cecily mused.

Hannah shot her a sharp look.

“What? It is.” Cecily looked a little uncomfortable, which was unusual.

“Audra will calm down.” I reassured Hannah. “She always does.”

Hannah looked even less convinced than I felt. Something about the vicious undercurrent in Audra’s behaviour unnerved me, and I could see that sensation echoed in her face. “It’s…” She trailed off, biting her lip, taking several moments before she spoke again. “The stakes are higher. Everyone is on edge.”

Cecily and I glanced at each other. “Besides you and Audra?”

Hannah nodded. “At least, all of the boys are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Colin is brooding –”

“Colin is _always_ brooding.”

“No, I mean more than usual. He’s always hanging around in the library, avoiding the rest of us, though I haven’t a clue why.”

“And the others?” Cecily raised an eyebrow.

“Gabriel’s gone mad trying to win Audra over, Oliver’s miserable –” She broke off and looked at me, wide eyed. “I mean, he’s just –”

“We know he’s broken-hearted.” Cecily rolled her eyes.

I felt my cheeks flush.

“What happened between you two anyway?” Hannah frowned at me. “I thought you were happy.”

“Why is Gabriel trying to win Audra over?” I sidestepped the question.

She looked me over for a moment, apparently deciding not to push it. “They’re fighting more than usual. He keeps performing these grand gestures and then she’ll turn him down, rinse repeat, ad infinitum.” She rolled her eyes, pulling a small notebook from her pyjama pant pocket. “Have either of you done the listening for class?”

Any discussion about our classmates apparently over, I nodded, but Cecily shook her head.

“Do you want to do them together while we wait?” Hannah offered.

Cecily hesitated, then shook her head. “I have, er, I have a paper to write.”

Hannah didn’t know that Cecily did not have a paper to write, but I did, and I fixed her with what I hoped was a barbed stare.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly and pulled her binder down from the shelf above her bed.

I shrugged. Cecily was Cecily. It was entirely possible that she might never deign to tell me why she hated Hannah so much. That was sort of just how Cecily was. She didn’t like a lot of people, and that was that.

Hannah had closed her eyes, fingers tapping out the beat to a song I couldn’t hear, seemingly oblivious to Cecily’s outright rejection.

I sat back on the bed, pulling my sheet music back into my lap, trying to focus on the notes, but they were seemingly nonsensical to me. I couldn’t ignore what Hannah had said about Oliver being miserable. I’d known he wasn’t happy, but the way Hannah had said it made it sound as though she knew something I didn’t.

With some difficulty, I wrestled the notes into focus. Whatever Oliver was working through was his business, not mine.

-

Audra turned all heads when she walked into class the next morning. None of us except Gabriel had spoken to her since the masterclass, though admittedly, I doubted any of us had really tried. We knew that Audra wasn’t to be crossed when she was upset.

She sat primly in her seat, eyes forward for the whole lesson. I wondered what it was that she believed we were all thinking about her, for her to put on such airs for so long. Was it because she thought Hannah was taking her place in our group? Or was it for professional reasons, or worse, pure jealousy?

We were well into our study on The Magic Flute. Now that we all knew who we would be playing, much of the class was spent in research on who the characters were, and how we should portray them. The week before, Cecily and I had been introduced to the student who would play the third lady – a tiny blonde girl named Mariah Kennedy, who to my surprise and slight jealousy, was a first year. To add further injury to this injustice – neither Cecily nor I had been selected to perform in the opera as first years – Mariah was nothing short of lovely. She had introduced herself with a meek quietness and proceeded to be polite and congratulatory of our interpretations of the characters, while providing her own succinctly in such a way that neither Cecily nor I could argue that she had not earned the part. Cecily, less adept than I at hiding her annoyance, had begun to refer to her as ‘mini-Audra’ behind her back, for which she had been the recipient of a finger to the ribs from me.

The three of us, unfortunately, had nearly wrung out everything we could about the characters of the three ladies, and were grateful when Dr. Blackburn called our attention to the front of the classroom for his lecture.

“The Queen of the Night.” He addressed us, pacing back and forth between the rows.

Hannah sat up a little straighter in her chair.

Not only did Dr. Blackburn teach general and music history, he was also assigned to the in-depth studies of the operas being performed that semester. I had been a part of these classes only twice, both semesters last year, as a second-year background character, and it was an entirely different experience as a more prominent character.

“What can you tell me about the aria?”

We had already gone over the song in brief summary when researching the plot, so this should be an easy question, but there was an unsettled silence as he looked from face to face. Dr. Blackburn was known for trick questions, and though I couldn’t see how this would be one, I didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of his mockery, and apparently neither did anybody else.

“Come on,” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, surveying us. “Nobody?”

Audra tentatively raised her hand, her slim wrist hardly extending over her head.

He nodded to her.

“It’s the climax between Pamina and the Queen.”

He nodded. “The Queen gives a knife to Pamina, and orders her to kill Sorastro.” He nodded to Hannah, Audra, and Oliver respectively.

“She says that she’ll disown and curse Pamina if she doesn’t.” Audra continued, a little more confidently, then glanced at Hannah as though Hannah really was threatening her.

Dr. Blackburn nodded. “Good. Anybody else?”

This time Hannah raised her hand. “It’s a rage aria.”

“That it is indeed.” Dr. Blackburn nodded. “And an extraordinarily difficult one. The Queen of the Night Aria requires both a tremendous amount of vocal dexterity and in-depth emotional connection with the text.” He paused. “Though all of the parts in the play require a great deal of ability to perform, The Queen of the Night is among the hardest to cast well, because of the skill called for.”

I was sure that Dr. Blackburn had no idea of the impact each one of his words had on our group, but I could sense the uneasy stirring in the room. He was doing precisely the thing we’d all bee trying to avoid: adding fuel to the fire between Audra and Hannah.

To my surprise, Audra did not react. At first, I wondered if she had put the spat between her and Hannah behind her, but after a moment’s observation, I realized that her neutrality was too practiced to be natural. Either she had not been paying attention – unlikely – or for some reason she was trying to hide her feelings about his statement.

Oblivious to the tension in the room, Dr. Blackburn continued. “We’ll be devoting this week and next to Act Three of the opera, in which this aria appears.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll be pairing you up in groups of two. Plan to meet at least once to write a summary and analysis of the act in it’s entirety, to be handed in in class next week.”

There was a collective groaning at the mention of a group project, for which he was famous, assigning at least two a year. He raised his hands. “It’s only one week. Just wait until next semester.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “I’m changing things up a bit this year.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be reading your pairs aloud. Please find your partner after class to discuss when you’ll be meeting up. Hannah and Gabriel.”

This time he did notice the startled murmuring in the room. Audra was staring daggers not at Hannah but at Gabriel. I didn’t have time to wonder why before Dr. Blackburn cleared his throat and continued. “Audra and Cecily.”

Audra turned sharply to look at Cecily, who smiled thinly, and after she had turned back, made the sign of the cross.

“Colin, you’ll work with Mariah.”

Mariah seemed startled, straightening up in her chair next to me. “Sir? I thought first years were exempt.”

He shook his finger. “ _Chorus_ members are exempt. Since you have a leading role, you’ll be participating whether you like it or not.”

Mariah looked like she was about to protest, but then closed her mouth and sat back in her chair.

I had been counting us off as he called our names, so I knew what was coming, but when he announced that Oliver and I would be working together, I had to fight to keep my face neutral. No matter how innocuous the project might have seemed, I knew that working with him would not be smooth sailing.

I spent the rest of the class stewing, staring daggers into the back of Oliver’s head as Dr. Blackburn gave us the information we would need for the assignment and began the lesson for the day.

I barely listened to him as he reviewed the first act, and when Cecily slammed her textbook shut, signalling the end of class, I was startled out of a reverie.

Oliver twisted in his chair and looked at me with lips pressed tightly together. “You and me, then.”

Despite the fact that I didn’t much want to work with him either, I found that I was hurt by the edge in his voice. I kept my tone as even as possible.

“I suppose.”

“When do you want to meet?”

Up close, I thought Oliver looked weary. His hair had grown longer than he usually kept it, and his shoulders curved inward, sharp in his exhaustion. For a moment, I let myself consider what Hannah had said about his misery, but I pushed past it. “I have to practice tonight. Tomorrow?” I knew him well enough to know that he would want to get the research done as soon as possible.

He nodded, a little stiffly. “I’ll meet you in the library.”

He stood up with some urgency and walked across the room to where Colin was waiting for him.

“Good Lord.” I moaned to Cecily, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“You’re telling me.” Cecily was lugging her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ve been stuck with Audra.”

We squabbled most of the way to our next class, both of us evidently feeling that we had got the worse deal.

When we passed a corridor, we were stopped by the sound of furious arguing.

“I don’t believe you, you know.” The voice was distinctly Audra’s. “About last year.”

I felt my heart drop, and I stopped mid-stride to listen.

“What’s not to believe?” Gabriel sounded wounded. “I’ve told you the truth, I swear.”

I thought I stopped breathing. Cecily and I exchanged a dubious look.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want you meeting with her in private.” Audra said firmly.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No! That’s the point!”

“I didn’t _do_ anything.” Gabriel’s voice was firm. “I love you. You know I do.”

Wide-eyed, Cecily jerked her head, and I followed her further down the corridor. Once we were out of earshot, she whispered, “That felt a little too private.”

I nodded. Though we knew that Gabriel and Audra had an intense, passionate relationship, we had never heard either of them express love in front of us. It made me feel strange and unpleasant all at once. “Who do you think they were talking about?”

Cecily glanced at me once, then away. “You don’t think it was you, do you?”

I bit my lip, shook my head. “I don’t know. I think… Hannah? Maybe Audra is worried that she’s going to try and get her hands on Gabriel.”

“God, could you imagine?” Cecily shivered a little. “She would actually kill her.”


	6. 5.

The next morning, all hell broke loose over breakfast. I walked in several minutes late, just in time to discover Audra and Hannah in the midst of a heated discussion.

I discovered later that Cecily – weary of their constant bickering – had started the argument by provoking Audra, but at that particular moment she was looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else than between two very angry women who were arguing with a passion that was, in honesty, frightening.

“I _never_ said I thought I was better than you!” Hannah was in the middle of an objection when Audra pointed a long finger at her.

“You didn’t have to!” Audra hissed. “Little miss high-and-mighty over here with your ‘marvellous rendition’ and ‘incredible acting’ – as _if_ you had to say anything at all! You’ve been lording it over me for days!”

“You’re the one who got the lead role, Audra!” Hannah sounded desperate, glancing at a group of second year students who were watching with muted interest. “And I _haven’t_ been ‘lording’ anything over you!”

Cecily glared at the students until they shuffled away.

Audra shot up, red in the face, scraping her chair against the stone floor. “We _both_ know you’re just avoiding what Dr. Ritter said about the aria, how it’s ‘so much more difficult to cast.’ Good god! I’m sick of this school playing favourites!”

She stalked away, brushing past me, head down, and when I turned, I thought I heard a muffled sob.

For several stilted moments, all was quiet. The boys, usually able to – in large part – ignore whatever drama Audra was the epicentre of, were all three staring at the door, which was swinging on its hinges.

They were not alone. Hannah stared too, two spots of red on her pale face, her face set, deliberate.

A bit tentatively, I sat down beside her.

The boys resumed their conversation, albeit a little more quietly than they usually would have.

“Are you alright?” I asked her quietly, so that they wouldn’t hear.

To my shock, Hannah burst into tears.

I had never seen Hannah cry before.

She buried her face in her hands. “Sorry.” She mumbled through her fingers. “God. Sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s alright.” I shrugged off her apology. None of us at Conolly were strangers to unpredictable outbursts of emotion, especially during exam season.

Cecily stood abruptly, looking at Hannah with a mixture of what I took to be alarm and distaste, then turned on her heel and followed in Audra’s footsteps,

At this, Hannah swiped furiously at her eyes. “No, it isn’t. I should – I’ve got to get a grip.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug my hand off, exactly, but her body stilled under my touch, and just as quickly, I retracted my hand.

She sighed. “It’s been a hard week.”

“It has.” I nodded my agreement.

“It won’t be forever.” She shook her hair out of her eyes and let out a low breath. Then she put the fork down, seeming to steel herself. “I’m going to go find Audra.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired of the constant tension. I’m going to see if I can… appease her. Bare my soul, that kind of thing.” She offered me a wry smile. “Wish me luck.”

I blinked at her, then looked down at the table. “You’ll need it.”

-

Whatever it was that she had done, it had worked. When I passed their room that evening on my way to the library, they were both sitting on Hannah’s bed, and Audra was working Hannah’s long hair into an even plait.

I shook my head a little wryly, wondering if Audra had any idea how saint-like her roommate was. My own roommate hadn’t even shown up to our afternoon class, and then hadn’t come to dinner. I hadn’t seen Cecily all day, which meant that I hadn’t had a chance to ask her about her sudden exit at breakfast. It also meant I hadn’t had anyone to complain to about having to meet Oliver to work on our research project.

I found him already sprawled out at one of the long wooden tables in the music section of the library. He hadn’t heard me come in, and as a result, hadn’t made any effort to look dignified.

I stood and watched him for several moments, books under my arm.

The tip of his tongue was trapped between his teeth, his telltale sign of intense concentration. I cleared my throat.

He looked up, startled, and stood. “Hello.”

I nodded to him and put my stack of books down on the table. “What have you got so far?”

“I found three historical texts that analyze the text.”

With some annoyance, I saw that two of the titles he had found were among the books I had brought with me. This was a problem that Oliver and I tended to run into – our similarities in research meant that we often were fighting over the same books in the library.

“So have I.” I said, and cleared my throat.

“Figures.” He smiled a little wryly. “I should have known.”

It felt a little bit like flirting. I realized that this was the first time I’d gotten a genuine smile from him. Maybe – just maybe – he was coming to terms with our breakup.

I sat down across from him, and he shoved a piece of lined paper over towards me, on which he had scribbled his ideas. I scanned the paper, finding myself begrudgingly impressed. Oliver had always been one of the most organized in the group, and though I wasn’t thrilled to be working with him for personal reasons, I knew our combined efforts would produce the best results out of all of the projects.

Before we had started dating, I had admired Oliver for his understated brilliance. Where Gabriel and Colin were up front with their own intelligence, he had never needed to hide behind it.

I opened one of the books to the index, intending to search for the terms he had highlighted for me to define, but instead I found myself staring down at the words without comprehending them. I glanced up at him, then back down at the page, trapped, suddenly, in an unpleasant bubble of memories. _This_ was why I had been avoiding him so steadfastly.

Our relationship had started almost as a joke. Back in first year, Oliver and I had only ever gotten close because we were making fun of Gabriel and Audra, who had just struck up a relationship and were insufferable about it. I’d wanted to be the cool girl, the girl who didn’t need any of the grand displays of affection that we were rolling our eyes at, but I’d still barely held back tears when he showed up at my window on a damp night in April of our first year, dripping wet and gripping a bouquet of wildflowers, smile bright enough to light the world.

That was the thing about Oliver. No matter how much I pretended to be somebody else, he always knew who I was. He had a knack for getting under people’s skin and figuring out their inner workings, understanding them maybe even before they’d quite figured it out for themselves.

One night, three weeks after he’d brought me flowers, we had been sitting on the couch in the lounge, my head on his chest, his heartbeat against my cheek, and he’d confessed in a soft, almost mournful voice, that if he had not chosen to perform, he would have wanted to become a psychologist.

“Why did you choose performing, then?” I’d asked him, propping myself up so I could look him in the face.

He took a deep breath, then ran his fingers idly through my hair. “It was the selfish option.”

“How is it selfish?”

“I chose it because I’m good at it.”

This had struck an uncomfortable chord somewhere within me. “That doesn’t make it selfish.”

“It does. I did it for me, not for anyone else. If I had chosen differently…” His voice faded to a whisper. “Maybe I would be helping people.”

“Music helps people.” I’d said, but even then, it had felt wrong, and I knew that hadn’t been what he meant.

“If I get cut this year –”

I had snorted.

“ _If_ I get cut this year,” He’d continued, “Maybe I’ll do that instead.”

He didn’t get cut. We all knew he wouldn’t. Oliver, despite his stuttering convictions about the morality of his choice, was a brilliant performer. He made it through the first round, and then the second, and now he was here with the rest of us.

I realized I had been watching him for a little bit too long when he looked up. We shared, for an elastic, uncomfortable moment, the kind of look between people who know too much and hurt too much to be looking at all.

Then he looked back down at his paper, and I swallowed anything I might have been about to say.

We didn’t talk. For the rest of the evening, the only times we spoke were when we had something to say about the paper, or the opera.

After an hour and a half, Oliver abruptly stood up, arranging his papers into a neat stack. “I think we’ll have enough for the paper.”

“I’ll add you to the document.”

Neither of us needed to say that we would not be meeting again.

-

It was October sixth, the first Saturday of the second month of the semester, which meant that our room had been converted into a nightmarish assortment of dresses, under-layers, various makeup products scattered across the desks, and throughout the room, the sharp scent of burning hair.

Twice a semester, the school held a gala for the third-year students to be introduced to and perform for potential future employers, directors, and colleagues. Everybody in the school went, and though this meant that we had all been a part of the festivities in years past, this was our first time as participating performers.

All four of us girls were in the cramped dorm room that Cecily and I shared. It was tradition to get ready for performances together, to apply lashes for one another, to zip each other up. I hadn’t been sure if Audra and Hannah would coexist nicely in such a small space, but since Hannah had spoken with her the week before, the two of them seemed closer than ever.

Cecily wrestled her arms through the sheer fabric of a green dress, grumbling to herself. Cecily, a self-professed despiser of performance attire, made her displeasure known every time we were required to dress up.

Hannah finished clamping her eyelash curler and stood up to assist her, but Cecily shrugged her off.

“I’ve got this.” Her voice was gruff.

Hannah raised an eyebrow but went back to her table, where she began the careful application of false lashes.

I frowned at Cecily. I hadn’t gotten around to asking her about why she stormed out after Hannah’s argument with Audra, nor had I ever bothered to ask her why she seemed to dislike Hannah so much, but it was clear that this was becoming a pattern.

Audra was lacing herself into her dress – it was tight, scarlet, accented with jewels, with a flowing skirt that cut off just above her ankles.

I checked the clock. “We have ten minutes until we need to be in the green room.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Audra huffed as she tried to tie off the bow in the back. “Cecily?”

Cecily came to help her with the bow.

We were barely on time, scurrying through the hallways with our skirts lifted. I felt my heart beating somewhere down in my stomach, the ever present looming knowledge of a performance imminent.

The boys were already all there, in their various pre-performance rituals. While Gabriel paced the room, Colin lay on the threadbare couch, his lips barely visible as he muttered his way through his piece. Oliver stood in the corner, eyes open but unseeing. I knew he was going over his movements, practicing in his mind the steps he would take, his precisely calculated hand movements.

I balled my fist so hard my nails dug into my palms.

The seven of us looked like jewels, glittering in the weak light of the room. I wore a long, beaded dress in deep purple. Audra’s scarlet was a sharp contrast to Hannah’s pale yellow. Cecily wore green. Colin and Gabriel were both in different shades of burgundy. Oliver was the only one of us in black.

We looked magnificent.

Gabriel glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly eight. The chamber musicians will be finished soon.”

Nerves rippled through the room like spilled water.

In just a few moments, all seven of us would be walking on stage and taking our seats to watch each other perform in front of hundreds of people. While this was not a new sensation to any of us, in my experience, the first horrible five minutes didn’t ever get any easier.

I looked to Hannah, who was standing with her arms by her side, perched like a bird about to take flight. She had closed her eyes, and the light glistened on her eyelids, accentuating the length of her neck and catching in the white-blonde of her hair.

Audra muttered something to Gabriel under her breath, twisting the fabric of her skirt in her hands. Gabriel took both of her hands, pulling them away from her skirt, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

I looked away. This time last year Oliver would have done the same thing.

He was fiddling with his shirt sleeves, trying to adjust his cufflinks. I found myself walking to him.

“Here.” I unbuttoned it, straightened the cuff link, and re-buttoned it, careful not to touch the skin underneath.

I could feel the intensity of his gaze on me without looking.

“Thanks.”

I nodded and walked back across the room to Cecily, who was looking at me with a mixture of exasperation and disapproval. “What?”

“He is in love with you, that’s what.” She whispered low, her lips hardly moving. “And you keep reminding him of it.”

“He is _not_.” I insisted.

The door opened before she had a chance to retort.

A second year in black with a headpiece on nodded to us. It was time.

Numbly, I followed Cecily out onto the stage.

The auditorium was dark, the spotlights bright on our faces. The wooden stage gleamed. The glow from the orchestra dimmed any faces that might have been visible in the audience.

I was scheduled to sing fifth, an awkward point in the program. Not early enough to get it over with, not soon enough to work through the nerves, but just at the point where I would have talked myself back into being nervous.

I took my seat beside Cecily, Hannah to my right, all seven of us in a row along the left side of the stage.

Dr. Rutledge walked up to the podium. He leaned into the microphone. “And now, may I present the singers of the graduating class of nineteen eighty-eight.”

There was a smattering of applause.

“In order of performance,” He coughed. “Gabriel Morrow, Colin Thorpe, Audra Daly, Cecily Preece, Leah Woodley, Hannah Frazier, and Oliver Grey. This year’s performers show outstanding ability, as I’m sure you will hear for yourself. Without further ado, Mr. Morrow.” He gestured to Gabriel, who stood, straightening his tie.

I hardly heard Gabriel’s song, or Colin’s after that. The pieces were familiar, as I’d heard them many times through the walls of the practice rooms. Though we weren’t supposed to explicitly say what pieces we had chosen to sing, it wasn’t difficult to surmise which pieces people would choose, being so familiar with practice routines.

Audra was a star, as usual, the jewels on her scarlet dress glinting in the spotlight as she swung her skirt, the same song she had sung in masterclass. Cecily sang from an oratorio, a Latin piece that showcased her remarkable dexterity. I only half-listened to her. My heartbeat thrummed. _You’re next._

It was happening too soon.

Cecily was taking a bow, the long sleeves of her dress draping to touch the ground, and then she was walking back to the row of chairs, and then it was my turn.

I don’t remember getting up or walking to the front of the stage. It was as though one moment I was sitting, and the next I was standing alone, my heart hammering as I tried to catch a quality breath. I wished the waist of my dress wasn’t so tight.

Somebody in the audience coughed. For a brief, horror stricken moment, I couldn’t remember how my piece began.

Then I remembered my cue. I jutted my chin out, striking a pose that I hoped was both confident and a little bit arrogant.

The cellos began to play the beginning notes of ‘ _L’amour est un oiseau rebelle_ ’ from Carmen. I’d been thrilled when I was finally given permission to sing it, after two years of being reminded that we weren’t studying opera yet, and even if we were, the song was beyond my grasp on technique. No longer.

I wished I could see the audience. It was hard enough to pretend to flirt with a real person. I just hoped I could pull off the wooing of a dark void.

In the opera, Carmen was the character everyone wanted. _I have so many admirers I can’t choose,_ I reminded myself.

The hours of practice kicked in. I didn’t have to think about the words or the melody, muscle memory pulling them out for me. I began to sing, gesturing to the invisible soldiers around me, trying to imagine what the set of the opera would look like. There was the factory where my character Carmen goes at the end of the day. There was the man she’d eventually pick.

I was glad my dress had a slit. As the notes were drawn out of me, I sashayed across the stage, growing more confident every moment, the dress working for me, hopefully providing a sex appeal that I would not have been able to pull off on my own.

The song was over before it knew it. My voice echoed in the auditorium, and then came the applause.

I held my pose for a deliberate three seconds before I responded to the praise, dropping the act, and confronting the audience with what I hoped was a gracious smile.

I could no longer feel my legs as I walked back to the chairs, barely registering as Hannah offered me a bright grin.

It was Hannah’s song next.

I thought maybe it was just me, with all of my senses coming back to life now that I was over the hurdle of performing, but I thought I could hear whispering in the audience, a subtle shift as Hannah took the stage.

I didn’t blame them. She was the picture of angelic perfection, her dress flowing from her willowy frame, her skin somehow paler than the light yellow lace.

When she got to her spot at the front, she took a long, slow breath. She didn’t even look nervous.

Her hands snapped up into place, above her head like a ballerina. A flute picked up the first few notes. _Les oiseaux dans la charmille_. We had studied the piece in class only a few weeks ago, but I had no idea she had been planning to sing it tonight.

A glance down the row told me that nobody else had, either.

The song was known for it’s immense difficulty, with incredibly high notes, and fast movements up in octaves that I couldn’t dream of singing in. The singer was performing as a wind-up doll, complete with the robotic motions of the arms, and partway through the song, the doll would run out of power, and the singer would have to bend at the waist, while keeping the tone high and even. I hadn’t been all that impressed by the feat until our teacher had us try it.

The first few seconds confirmed my suspicions. The piece was no match for Hannah. Her voice soared, flutelike, through the hall, filling every corner, as the melody jumped from high to low up even higher.

It took my breath away. I didn’t even notice that I was watching her with my mouth open until she performed the bend without her sound so much as changing even once.

The applause for her song was deafening. I wanted to stand, as I could hear the audience members doing. Hannah deserved a standing ovation, undoubtedly.

I glanced over at Oliver. He wore a practiced expression of cool calm, though I had no doubt he was just as nervous as he had a right to be, following that.

It appeared, though, that Hannah was not the only one with a surprise.

Four stagehands dressed in black pushed a piano onto the stage. Daniel Tomas, one of the piano majors, strolled onto stage in a tux to vigorous applause.

I knew the piano students had already had their concert, but it still took me a moment to realize that this was not a solo.

Oliver strode to the front of the stage.

I recognized the song as soon as it started. Rapid repeated notes in the melody of the piano gave way to an ominous bass line.

Like Cecily, Oliver had chosen a song that was not from an opera. _Erlkönig_ was a piece that we had studied the previous year. Like Hannah’s song, it was known for its difficulty. It was a standalone piece that told the story of a father and son running on horseback from an evil spirit. The piano part was just as difficult as the vocal line, which must have been why Oliver had asked Daniel to play.

The piece was so _Oliver_ that I was almost surprised the idea hadn’t occurred to me before. As usual, he owned the stage, playing the parts of the father and son as well as the spirit with such emotional dexterity I found myself forgetting that there was only one person on stage.

Like Hannah, Oliver received tumultuous applause. He gestured to Daniel, and the two of them bowed together.

The applause did not stop. Oliver bowed again.

Then Dr. Rutledge was climbing back onto stage, gesturing for us to stand together. When we did, the applause grew to a roar.

We lined the front of the stage, all seven of us.

I could see the audience now, barely. Every person in the room was on their feet.

It was over.


	7. 6.

The gala at Conolly was a no-expenses-spared affair. The entrance hall dazzled us, lit up, the chandelier a thousand sparkling diamonds, glittering thirty feet above the mingling guests.

I stood at the top of the staircase, dizzy with the knowledge that these people were here for me. For all of us.

Colin offered me a flute of champagne he’d snagged from a passing waiter. “And so it’s over.”

“And so it _begins_.” Cecily corrected him.

Gabriel and Oliver were walking up the steps towards us. Gabriel smacked Oliver on the shoulder. “If I’d have known that you were going to outshine us all, I’d have picked a better piece.”

Oliver grinned good-naturedly, shrugging. “My parents were coming tonight.”

“Look at this view!” Gabriel flung his arms wide over the room. From where we stood, the whole of the hall was visible, the arching windows raised high towards the ceiling, the stained glass dark, wine coloured against the black night.

I found myself gripping Oliver’s arm just above his shoulder. When he turned to me, whatever words I had been planning to say died on my lips. “Good job.” It was all I could get out, suddenly stunned by our closeness and the memory of his spectacular performance.

He smiled thinly at me, and I let go. “You too.”

We’d spent the better part of an hour and a half meeting with countless different men and women, introducing ourselves and being congratulated on the performances.

My feet ached, two tender spots on my heels where my shoes had rubbed the skin raw, and I knew I was flushed, my hair falling out of it’s up do in loose strands, but I was exhilarated. I’d had conversations with several directors of various opera studios, and had been told countless times that they would be watching for my name, and that they’d be sure to come to the fall and winter productions.

As though a switch had been flipped, it had sunk in that this, my choice, was real. I would, in seven short months, be a graduated performer. We all would.

All seven of us were at the top of the stairs. We hadn’t arranged it, it had just happened. To my surprise, Audra and Hannah were engaged in an enthusiastic conversation. I had expected Hannah’s brilliance to sour Audra’s mood, but she was exclaiming over the intricacies of the piece and congratulating Hannah on the piece.

“You were _incredible_.” I found Hannah’s hand. “Seriously. I thought I was going to die when the music started but you nailed it.”

Hannah shook her head. “No! _You_ were incredible! I had no idea you had that kind of…” She trailed off, the grinned mischievously. “‘Sensuality’ is the word I’m looking for. You were a _very_ convincing Carmen.”

I was startled but extremely gratified by her praise, squeezing her hand.

Hannah’s attention turned to Audra. “And you! That piece! That dress!”

Audra, like the rest of us, seemed too happy to make any comment that might have sounded bitter about Hannah outshining her.

I looked over to where the three boys were engaged in animated conversation. Colin was reenacting some specific moment of his performance of Pavarotti’s ‘ _La donna è mobile’,_ arms swinging, gesticulating wildly.

Oliver was laughing, and then, without warning, the two of them were engaged in a pretend game of fencing, acting out the scene with a frenzied energy. Both of them catlike, they slashed and swiped with invisible swords, until they fell apart, both laughing. Oliver’s smile was so wide it looked like it might hurt.

Against the brilliance of the chandelier, the black satin of his shirt matching his hair, that even, bemused smile, he looked devastatingly handsome, and I hated the way my heart still ached. I had been the one to end things, but it certainly didn’t mean my feelings went away.

He glanced at me, then looked away, down over the crowd below.

My pulse stuttered in my wrist.

Fabric brushed against my arm. Cecily was standing right next to me, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What’s the matter?”

She had the faintest ghost of a frown on her face. “What? Nothing’s the matter.”

“Come on.” I shoved her arm, light enough to convey that it was in jest. “You’ve been out of sorts all evening. All week, actually.”

She stared at Hannah, her brow furrowing. “I’m not out of sorts.”

I looked from Cecily to Hannah. “What’s your problem with her anyway?”

She rounded on me, her frown now a glare. “What? I don’t have a problem with her.”

“Okay! You don’t have a problem with her.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ve just noticed you’ve been a little short with her.”

Her frown grew concerned. “Have I?”

“A little.” I shrugged.

Cecily stared towards Hannah’s direction, and I thought she was going to elaborate, but instead she turned on her heel and walked down the stairs.

Oliver was tapping Hannah on the shoulder. When she turned around and saw him, her face lit up, and she hugged him hard. “My god! You were incredible.”

He squeezed her arm. “So were you. You surprised all of us.”

“I wasn’t the only surprise!” She began to talk excitedly about the range of sonority in his piece, and after about two seconds I decided to follow Cecily down the stairs.

Once down at the bottom, however, I could not find her. Instead, I was cornered by Dr. Davis.

“My Carmen!” She extended her arms, grasping my shoulders. “My dear, you were phenomenal.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks burned. Praise from Dr. Davis was rare, and perhaps because of this, I found it slightly uncomfortable. “Did you know Hannah was going to sing Hoffmann?”

“I tried to talk her out of it.” She was fanning herself. Two brights spots of red had appeared on her cheeks, and she seemed slightly breathless. “I thought _my god_ there’s no way she’ll pull it off but!” She gestured with her left hand. “She surprised us all. She only proposed it on Monday. She’s been working on it for weeks, apparently.”

It occurred to me that Dr. Davis might have had a few flutes of champagne. “And she was allowed to change her piece?”

She shrugged. “What can’t she do? Dr. Ritter has a soft spot for Hannah.”

I frowned. “Doesn’t that affect casting? If there is a bias towards her?”

Dr. Davis fixed me with a solid stare. “Of course not. Of _course_ not.”

I waited.

“We bring people in for the casting, surely you know that by now. If it were up to us…” She trailed off. Her eyes found Audra, and then she shook her head. “Never mind. That’s certainly not for me to say!”

I was unused to this version of the professor. In our lessons, nobody could be more professional and stoic. I found myself under the impression that under normal circumstances, she would not have told me any of this.

Her eyes locked on Dr. Rutledge, and she excused herself, leaving me standing by myself in the throng of people.

Mariah appeared in front of me, stumbling a little on the hem of her dress. “Leah!” She exclaimed, righting herself. “You were amazing.”

“Everyone was.” I couldn’t bring myself to accept her compliment.

Her eyes were shining. I wondered if she had also been taking part in the champagne, and for the first time, I wondered how old she was. She looked startingly young to be at Conolly – sixteen, seventeen, maybe? She sighed. “I can’t wait for my year.”

“It’s worth the wait.” Gabriel said behind me. “It’s the best part of the year.” He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed once, twice. “Hello, Carmen. Quite the show you put on this evening.”

“Why is everyone calling me Carmen?” I retorted, whipping around to face him.

“Because you were _that_ good.” He seemed genuinely surprised that I wouldn’t have pieced that together myself. “Everyone blew it out of the water tonight. I’ve never seen you perform like that before.”

I had to fight to keep my smile down, eventually failing, unable to keep from beaming. “You really think so?”

“Everyone does.” Gabriel glanced up to the staircase, where Oliver, Hannah, and Colin were making their way down. I tried not to let my gaze linger too long on Oliver.

“Thank you, then.” I glanced down at his watch, flipping his hand over so I could see it. “The after party is starting soon, isn’t it?”

“That it is.”

Mariah made a shrill squeaking sound. “Is that the director of Julliard’s vocal department?”

I followed her pointing finger to where a man with long grey hair was in deep conversation with Dr. Rutledge.

“It is.” Gabriel looked thoughtful, then he grinned at Mariah, his teeth glinting. “Is that your dream?”

Mariah looked wistfully at the professor. For the first time, I noticed how distinguished she looked. She’d put her strawberry blonde hair up in a neat chiffon, which was now starting to come undone, loose curls falling around the nape of her night. In her light green shimmering evening gown, she was a wisp of a thing, light as air. The yearning on her face was evident. “Maybe. One day.”

“You don’t have to do a masters at Juilliard to make it.” Gabriel remarked. “A diploma from Conolly is more than often completely satisfactory to be a performer.”

“Oh, no.” Mariah seemed distracted, brushing Gabriel’s comment aside. “I want to be a professor one day.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Pipes like yours, and you want to be a professor?”

Mariah looked at him, a hard set to her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with being a professor?”

He shrugged. “Don’t people become professors eventually, after they’re finished with performing?”

“Oh, I’m going to perform.” Mariah was confident. “No doubt about that. I just want to have the credentials to do whatever I’d like to do.”

He leaned on the railing of the staircase, considering her. “Admirable.”

She blushed, then looked away, on her tiptoes, over the crowd. She addressed me. “Is it a bad idea for me to introduce myself? If I’m only a first year?”

I shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than she was off like a rocket, making a beeline to the man from Juilliard.

“Gotta give it to her.” Gabriel was shaking his head. “I can’t imagine having the guts in my first year.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “You were always gutsy.”

“Not _that_ gutsy.”

It seemed that the party was drawing to a close, the crowd thinning ever so slightly. I shifted in my shoes, wincing as my sore heels rubbed against the material. “How early is too early for us to leave?”

“The second years have already all jumped ship.” Gabriel said this with the authority I was accustomed to. I didn’t need to ask how he knew this to know that he was right. “Most of the first years too. Except Miss Ambition.” He jerked his head towards Mariah.

“The sooner I can get out of here the better.” I pressed my hand to the side of my head, trying fruitlessly to fend off an imminent headache. “I need a drink.”

“Or ten.” Gabriel nodded his agreement. “There’s Oliver, he looks like he’s leaving, though I can’t imagine you’d like to make your debut next to him.” He quirked an eyebrow.

I groaned.

“When are you going to tell anyone why you ended it?”

I stared at him, halfway disbelieving that he would even ask, sure that he already knew. “Ask me that again after I’m significantly less sober.”

He hooked his arm through mine. “I might just take you up on that. Let’s see if we can find that party.”

As we walked, I felt more than a little confused at his sudden friendliness. It wasn’t as though he and I weren’t friends – of course we were, just as much as the rest of us were all friends. But especially since last year, I’d thought we had an unspoken agreement that we’d be better off avoiding each other. I couldn’t help but wonder how Audra would feel about it if she saw us together. Would she _know_?

“And you and Audra?” I blurted out, not sure why I was asking even as the words came out.

He gave me a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know.” I gave the hall a last look as we exited through a side door. The sparkling chandelier winked and glinted on the walls. “It’s a high stress season. Are you as mad about each other as ever?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. Things are great.”

I glanced at him, not entirely convinced, but chose not to press the issue. I knew he knew what I was really asking, and if he didn’t want to answer, that was fine by me. We walked through a dimly lit corridor.

I was glad that it wasn’t a long walk. The basement of Conolly’s main building wasn’t really a basement, as only one side was truly underground. The side of the building not built into the mountain sprawled out onto the sloping lawns of the grounds.

The party was in the long and low room that made up the main expanse of the basement. As we approached through the long corridor, I heard the low thrum of a bass guitar. As was tradition, the second and third year jazz students had set up shop in the corner, a bass track ensuring there were never gaps in the music, but leaving the floor open to improvisation.

The party was already in full swing, the buzz of excited voices audible even before we had entered.

The room smelled, as it usually did, of booze and sweat. Someone had cleared a dance floor, and several dance majors were putting on an impromptu swing dance show.

Colin appeared at my elbow, holding two paper cups. “I couldn’t find shot glasses.”

“What is it?” I took mine, Gabriel sniffed the contents of his doubtfully.

“Whiskey? Maybe. It’s something.”

Gabriel had already downed it.

“Jesus.” Colin raised an eyebrow.

Gabriel shrugged. “What? We’ve finished the gala. It’s time to celebrate.”

He raised his eyebrow at me, so I smiled wide and tossed my cup back. It wasn’t whiskey, but Colin was right, it was something. It burned on the way down, warming the pit of my stomach and dispelling some of the anxiety of the night.

While Colin rolled his eyes at me, Gabriel extended his hand in my direction. “Come on. Dance with me.”

At my hesitance, he laughed, a sharp bark. “Don’t worry about Audra. She won’t mind.”

The fact was, I had not been worrying about Audra. I realized, a sharp twist in my gut, that I had been worried about Oliver. With that thought, and the slight twinge of annoyance that Audra didn’t deign to think of me as a threat, I accepted his hand.

“Don’t go too crazy!” Colin called after us.

Gabriel and I joined the swing dancers. It was the only kind of dance besides ballroom that either of us could do comfortably without some choreography, as we had taken a class together as an elective our first semester at Conolly. I remember thinking back then that he was handsome, though I quickly realized that Audra, who I had made a tentative friendship with, had her eye on him, and so I kept my distance.

There was no such distance between us now. The dance was fast-paced, and there was no time to be self conscious about where Gabriel put his hands as he whipped me around the dance floor. I moved in time, mostly following his lead, and when he dipped me down low, I could hear an appreciative whoop from the corner of the room.

When the song ended, I looked up to see Audra standing at the edge of the crowd, looking bemused. Gabriel was right. She did not seem to mind. For a bitter moment I found myself wishing that she did.

Then Gabriel saw her too, and he squeezed my shoulder, apologizing for leaving, and then he extended his hand to her.

To my surprise, she shook her head. “I don’t swing dance.” She didn’t look annoyed with him so much as exasperated.

Now he looked annoyed, his arm still outstretched. “Since when?”

“Always.”

He let his arm drop. All three of us knew this wasn’t true. At the gala after party the semester before, Audra had been more than content to be swung around on Gabriel’s arm. It appeared that she was being difficult on purpose.

“You’re a _dance_ major.”

She huffed.

Gabriel swung around, raised an eyebrow at me, and shrugged as if to say, _what can I do about it? I’m just her boyfriend._

She led him off the dance floor and through the crowd, and I was left alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Hannah. But when I went to make my way over to her, I saw her handing a drink to Oliver, who was smiling merrily at her in a way I had not seen in several months, and something soured in the pit of my stomach. I turned to the bar.

The next few hours, I must admit with some embarrassment, are a little blurry. As a rule, I never got blackout drunk – I left that to Audra – and I didn’t break that rule that night, but as is the case with parties, where there are many conversations, many songs, many dances, many drinks, the specifics tend to dim in the murk of a warm room.

At some point, the heat in the basement became too much for me, and I stumbled through the doors and out onto the lawn.

The cool air was like a sharp slap in the face, instantly sobering to some degree, and I had made it halfway down the path to the lake before I noticed the silhouette in the moonlight.

“Gabriel.”

He was standing on the edge of the path, looking up into the sky, scrutinizing the stars. He offered me a crooked smile.

“Why are you out here?”

“Why are you?” He looked back to the gossamer moon spun lake.

I thought he looked a little forlorn. “Too warm.”

He nodded.

I felt bolder than usual. “But I don’t think that’s why you’re out here.”

He left an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t.”

He sighed. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

The best indication of whether or not Gabriel had been drinking was that he lost all specificity. Ordinarily, he prided himself on specific, ordered sentences, an organized use of language that prioritized clarity. He often said that he wanted to make sure he never led somebody into a misunderstanding, but tonight, I struggled to follow.

“What?”

“Secrets, Leah.” He looked distinctly forlorn. “Truths.”

I was also distinctly aware of where the topic might lead.

I sighed. The evening seemed to be drawing us together, and four drinks in, I was in no condition to object to whatever forces were at work. “Fine. Let’s walk.”

The moon was out, casting cool rays across the lake, painting Gabriel’s face into a beautiful tragedy. I’d never seen him so melancholy. I set off down the path, and he followed beside me.

“You first.”

He shook his head. “I’ll trade you. Truth for truth.”

I looked at him. It would be easy to say no. It would be easy to walk away. I sighed. “Fine. I broke up with Oliver because I was afraid.”

He considered this, glanced over at me, then away. “I don’t think Audra loves me anymore.”

“Do you love her?”

“Don’t break the rules. Truth for truth.”

I was glad we were walking, because I didn’t think I could have said any of this if I had to look him in the eye. “I didn’t break up with Oliver because I don’t – _didn’t_ – love him.”

I was wandering toward a truth we both already knew.

Gabriel glanced at me, then back out over the lake. “I do love Audra. In a way.”

“What does that mean?”

He tutted. “You keep breaking the rules.”

I let out an annoyed huff. “I broke up with him because I was scared that he could be it, you know? He could have been the one, and I wasn’t ready for that. Two performers? World travel? It was… it was too much.”

“Jesus. Fuck. Leah. That’s your reason?”

“Now you’re the one breaking the rules.” I muttered, bitter.

“God. You know he’s been tearing himself up for _months_ over this?” He stared at me. “That’s why?”

“Is it what you want to hear?” I balled my fists “Does it make you feel better?”

He was silent for several moments, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “Audra doesn’t trust me.”

“No shit she doesn’t.” I paused. “Does she know?”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel stopped walking. “I don’t know.”

I stopped walking.

He looked melancholy, far within himself, as though he was paying penance for something, head bowed in confession.

“What did she say to you?” I bit my lip.

“What _didn’t_ she say?” His tone was sardonic. Then he stilled. “Leah?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Do you still love him?”

I glanced up at him and back down at the ground. “How am I supposed to answer that?”

He squeezed my arm. “Leah. Do you?”

“I –”

He tilted my head up with his fingers, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I just want to know.”

“What are you really asking?” I stared back at him resolutely, all too aware of his fingertips under my chin.

He kissed me.

It was the kind of surprise that felt more like a memory. He had warm lips, I thought. When his stubble scraped my chin, I forgot myself, his hands on my waist, my fingers reaching up to twine in the hair on the nape of his neck, lost in a moment that was both present and far away, months ago. The kiss was intense, heat everywhere, rough, wanting. Something stirred below my navel, and I almost, _almost_ gave in.

Then I stepped away, breathing hard. “Gabriel. Gabriel. No. We can’t do this again.”

I almost expected him to kiss me again anyway, but he just stood there, looking out over the lake.

“What about Audra?” I flung my arms out. “Just because _I’m_ single this time doesn’t make it less wrong.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Did you break up with him because of me?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not because I wanted to get with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Alright. Maybe it was because of you, a little. I felt awful, Gabriel. Didn’t you? Don’t you still? Doesn’t it kill you to look Audra in the eye?”

He snorted. “Audra isn’t as innocent as you think.”

“Why are you still together, then? If you’re both cheating on each other?”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

“Oh, well then how _do_ you think of it?”

“Cheating,” There was a sneering edge to his tone, “Implies some kind of emotional connection.”

I rolled my eyes. “First of all, that’s not what cheating means at all. Secondly, are you trying to hurt my feelings? You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

Even though I’d meant it to sting, he smirked. “You want me to hurt your feelings?”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” I huffed. “I’m not playing this game again.”

I turned, and he didn’t stop me. I knew he wouldn’t, but even as I marched up the path and back towards the party, I knew it wasn’t over.

I didn’t turn to see if he followed me, and once I arrived back at the basement, I slipped into the crowd, looking for a familiar face, something to ground me, to slow my heart down. I couldn’t see _anyone_ I knew in this mess of people.

The next hour blurred in with the rest of the evening, incongruous, mildly unpleasant, bodies on the dance floor, more drinks, wishing I could be someone else.

I found Audra at one point, absolutely obliterated, barely standing, and to my surprise, it was Colin – who showed up relatively sober, barely disguising his disgust – that offered to walk her back to the dormitories, since he was heading that way, and then I was alone again in a room full of bodies.

I’d been right though, that it wasn’t over with Gabriel.

The night was beginning to slow down, the party thinning out, and I was tired, done with the dancing and the endless frustration welling up inside me, when I was possessed by the urge to go back onstage, and so with my hand as an anchor sliding down the wall, I made my way down the tunnel that connected the basement with the maze of backstage passages.

I’d only been in the tunnel for about a minute when I was stopped.

“Leah.”

I whirled around, a hand to my head. “What?”

Gabriel stood a few paces behind me.

I stayed still while he walked toward me.

“Where were you all night?” I asked, when he was closer. “I was dancing by myself.”

He shook his head. “So I saw. I was there.”

“I didn’t see you.”

He said, “You weren’t looking hard enough, then. I was watching.”

I was drunk. I knew I was drunk. I arched an eyebrow, asked for it. “Oh? Did you like it?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose and stepped towards me.

I knew it was coming. I _wanted_ it to happen. _Take it_ , I thought. My head swam as I gave myself permission to think about everything that I’d been holding back for the last four months.

He sighed, smirked. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

The last, tiny part of me that objected – _this is wrong_ – evaporated. “What are you going to do about it?”

He laughed, then, stepped even closer, until there were only inches between us. “Oh, Woodley. You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

“I might.”

He reached up, took hold of my face by my chin, looked me right in the eye. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he asked, “Where’s Audra?”

“Blackout.” I said. “I think. Colin took her back to her room.”

He looked at me, up and down.

He said, “Good.”

He kissed me.

With Gabriel it wasn’t kissing, there wasn’t room for anything from me, I was _being_ kissed, I was gasping for air, I was gasping his name, his hand was clamped firm against my waist, my fingers in his hair. It was every high note I’d ever heard, every time I’d ever sprinted, too hard, too fast, lungs burning.

He broke away, grabbed a door handle, twisted it.

It opened. I hadn’t even noticed the door was there.

He dragged me inside, closed the door behind us, pushed me against the wall, hard, so that I felt the impact in my shoulder blades, kissed me again.

Gabriel pulled away, eyes glinting in the dark.

The voice in the back of my head piped up again, timid. _What the hell am I doing?_

He must have seen something, somehow, in my expression, because he laughed. “What, thinking about Oliver?”

I swallowed. “No.”

He kissed me once, again, a third time, until I forgot we’d even been talking, struggled to track with his question. “You love him, don’t you?”

“What the hell does that have to do with this?” I steeled my jaw as he leaned back in. “God. Gabriel, what do you _want_ here?”

“Do you love him?” He gasped into my neck, just below my ear, stubble scraping against my collarbone. “Do you think about him every day? Do you tear yourself apart over it?”

“What?” I struggled to follow his train of thought, my fingers stumbling on his shirt buttons.

“ _Do_ you?”

I gasped when he bit down on my shoulder, and my answer came unbidden in the shaky exhale that followed. “Yes.”

Gabriel made a guttural sort of sound as he unbuttoned his cuffs and shook the shirt off. “Good.”

I watched him yank his undershirt off with one hand, my chest heaving.

“There is something,” I shivered at the feeling of his fingers against my collarbone, “ _seriously_ wrong with you, you know that?”

He grinned, but there was no humour in it.

“And yet.” He said, “Here you are.”


	8. 7.

ACT TWO

“There is music in the air, music all around us; the world is full of it, and you simply take as much as you require.”

_— Edward Elgar_

7.

The next morning I had the worst hangover of my life.

I woke, bleary-eyed, to find that I had fallen asleep face down on the bed still fully clothed – well, _re-_ clothed, if my memory was serving me correctly.

I shot straight up, pressed a hand to my head. The room spun.

Oh, no. Oh _no_.

What had I done?

Cecily’s bed was empty. Whether that was because she had never come home or because she’d already left, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful for a moment to myself as I grimly accepted the fact that I had done the exact thing I’d sworn I’d never do again.

How was I supposed to come back from this? How could I ever look Gabriel in the eye again when I’d told him the truth and then trampled all over it?

_Do you love him?_

_Yes._

My chest hurt. I stood, hand against the wall, unsure whether the wave of nausea came from my physical body or from something further inside me.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the spotty mirror on the wall and winced. I looked almost as bad on the outside as I felt on the inside – I wore evidence of last night’s party in the mats of my dark hair, the drooping bobby pins, the smeared mascara under my eyes.

I remembered, an unpleasant jolt, that I’d promised Dr. Davis I’d hand in a late assignment today. She’d allowed it considering the gala, but had made me promise to have it in by noon today.

I hated the past version of myself that had agreed, hating even more the past version of myself that hadn’t bothered to finish it yesterday. There wasn’t time. It was already quarter to twelve.

I shed the dress without much grace, ignoring my stiff joints, pushing past the headache that was pressing in on all sides. Then, though I was afraid to, I made myself look in the mirror, and found with a spasm of relief that at least there was nothing on my body to mark last night’s transgressions. I found a grey t-shirt in the cupboard, and did my best to erase the night’s misdemeanors with a wet-wipe. 

Feeling thankful that Dr. Davis was graceful about late assignments, I tucked my music theory analysis paper under my arm and braved the rest of the castle. Considering our conversation last night, even if she wasn’t liable to accept the paper three days late, Dr. Davis likely could be convinced that it was a good idea to stay on my good side.

I walked briskly, trying to escape my own thoughts.

_Traitor, traitor, traitor._

Conolly on Sundays was always echoey and silent. Most of the students could be found in their dorms or in the east wing in the practice rooms, so the west wing, where the teacher’s offices were and where classes were held, was generally silent, which was why I was caught off guard when I heard voices coming from Dr. Ritter’s office.

Staying in the corner of the hallway, I listened.

“I don’t think you need to feel too bad about it, my dear.” Dr. Ritter’s deep baritone voice was audible even from where I stood. “These kinds of things happen. You know that.”

“I _really_ shouldn’t have, though.” Hannah’s voice was tremulous. “I –”

“If it happened, it happened.”

I inched forward.

Hannah was sitting on Dr. Ritter’s desk. She had her arms crossed over her chest, still wearing her yellow dress from the night before. He had his hand on her bare shoulder.

Hannah looked like she hadn’t slept at all. Dr Ritter was speaking slowly, reassuringly. His thumb gently rubbed a comforting circle on her collarbone.

I backed away as silently as possible. What had I just seen? Something about the situation made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Nothing about their behaviour in classes had hinted at any kind of close relationship, but the way he had been standing hinted at a kind of intimacy that was, at the very least, unusual between teacher and student. I wondered what she had been talking about. She had looked truly troubled, like she’d committed some great sin, but Hannah was a saint. I couldn’t think of a single thing she had done to offend anyone since she’d arrived, besides daring to be better at her craft than Audra.

-

The next three weeks after the gala rushed by like a swift current. Staging classes had begun in earnest, and most of our evenings were spent in the practice room. There was a Halloween party that I didn’t attend, claiming a headache, but the truth was I was repulsed with myself for what had happened after the gala and didn’t want to trick myself into becoming a repeat offender. I heard about the party, though, in awed whispers. Hannah and Audra had fought – unsurprising – and Colin had been so violently sick that they’d had to close out a classroom. Apparently, Mariah had gotten – in Cecily’s words – “wasted” so badly that she’d had to be carted back to her dormitory over Gabriel’s shoulder.

I was glad I hadn’t gone.

We had been instructed to be off book by our reading break. In other words, we had to have all of our lines and songs from the opera committed to memory. This was no small feat, though by far Cecily and I had the easiest time, considering our lines were limited, but I was slightly annoyed that neither of us had seen much of Mariah. Since Halloween, she seemed quiet, withdrawn, and pale, refusing to show up to extra rehearsals.

On top of our work for the opera, we still had our own vocal study, masterclasses, and the regular responsibilities of academia on our shoulders. The nights I wasn’t in the practice room, I was in the library.

Unlike previous years, we didn’t have the time to spend evenings together, and as such we rarely saw each other outside of classes and the occasional hurried meal in the dining centre, which was more of a blessing than a curse.

As far as I knew, Gabriel had not told anybody about what had transpired between us on the night of the party, and I hadn’t dared either. Once, in a quiet moment between Cecily and I, the confession had risen up so far in my throat I had almost blurted it out, but instead I shoved it back down.

I still wasn’t sure why it had happened again. I was sure that it wasn’t because of any secret love between us, and in the moment, I’d imagined it was just lust, nothing more, nothing less. But now, with distance, I was growing increasingly suspicious that Gabriel was lonely. Now that I was looking for it, I could see that there was a distinct iciness between him and Audra. I was used to following their ups and downs, but their passion was red-hot – they were either deeply and passionately invested in each other, or fighting with vigorous intensity. Distance between them was new, and the fact that they hadn’t broken up was starting to make me feel uneasy. I wondered – how much of the truth had he told me?

Gabriel and I had not spoken one-on-one since that night, which was now nearly a month ago. I had caught his eye several times in classes and rehearsals, and more than once I had caught him looking at me, but neither of us had approached the other to have a conversation about it, which was fine by me.

My confession tasted acrid in my mouth. I had told one living soul the truth about Oliver and now I was helpless, scrabbling to conceal it and wishing with everything I had that I could take it back.

Oliver seemed to be avoiding me. I pretended not to notice. I wished I didn’t notice. My conversation with Gabriel had broken open a wound that I had left to heal, and all of my uncertainty, fear, and worst of all, affection, had spilled out of me, now accompanied by guilt and an intense self-loathing that I was doing my level best to bury.

One night, when I was waiting for a practice room late on a Thursday night, the door to one of the rooms with a piano swung open, and I moved towards it eagerly, only to come face to face with Oliver.

He blinked at me under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway. “Leah.”

“Hey.”

He looked better than he had in weeks. He was clean shaven, and there was a lightness in his posture that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Despite this, he would not meet my eye.

“How are you?”

The words were out before I had fully considered them, and I teetered uncomfortably on the precipice of familiarity, unsure whether or not I was in the position to be asking, but by the time it occurred to me that I likely wasn’t, I’d already said it.

“I’m fine.”

It was a response that offered no extra information, no insights. He had closed himself off to me, and that was the first moment that we both knew it. He shouldered past me into the hallway, leaving me the empty practice room.

I watched his back as he turned the corner.

Over the next several days, it was clear that I was not the only one to notice the change in him.

“Look at Oliver.” I overheard Audra remarking to Cecily. “He looks…”

“Awake, for once?” Cecily didn’t miss a beat.

“I guess so.”

It was like watching a flower blossom. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted. He started looking at me in the eye, which I found both startling and welcoming, until I realized that though he was looking at me, he was not seeing me.

I should have been surprised by how deeply I felt this rejection. I had taken some kind of weak solace all these months in the fact that though I may be struggling with our split, so had he. I had been able to count on his longing, or has Hannah had said, his misery, the same way I’d been able to count on my own.

Though he was undoubtedly still not eager to talk to me, whatever he was working through was different in a way that left me out. I was not entirely certain that I had been even close to a catalyst in this sudden change.

It was as though I had become, overnight, inconsequential.

I bemoaned this to Cecily, who was furious with me for my refusal to let go.

“This is your fault, Leah. You ended it, and he has every right to move past it.” She pointed out, and refused to say anything more on the subject.

She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t be upset about him moving on any more than I could be upset that he was hurting, but therein lay the secret that had come to light and continued to haunt me: I had been happy that he was hurting, in some sick way, because I was hurting too.

-

The last week of October was hell on earth. Midterm season in our last year, we discovered, took no prisoners. Four written, three practical, and two aural exams left me feeling as though I had been pummelled, my head spinning with the names and dates of Romantic and Modern Composers, their idiosyncrasies and compositions, translations of French, German and Italian texts, and the intricate plot details of the opera we were set to perform. I didn’t have time to dwell too much on Oliver, or on Gabriel for that matter, and the troubling things he had told me about his relationship with Audra.

Whatever had been going on between them, by that point they seemed to have sorted it out. I knew this only because Hannah had come knocking, the disgust on her face the only story she needed to tell. “They’re like animals.”

On the afternoon of our last aural exam, we stood in the hallway, waiting for our names to be called, just as we had been before our auditions at the beginning of the term.

Audra bounded out of the room upon completion of her test, all smiles, and practically leapt into Gabriel’s arms, and for several uncomfortable moments the two of them were so utterly engrossed in each other that I busied myself with my set of flashcards, though I knew them by heart.

Hannah, in a rare display of discomfort, coughed loudly, and the two of them broke apart, though Audra kept her hands under his blazer.

I almost preferred the icy coolness that had carried them into midterm season.

I exchanged a glance with Colin, who rolled his eyes. For some reason, this small moment eased something in my chest that had been tight. A moment that felt _normal._ I’d been desperate, I realized, for something as simple as normalcy for weeks.

The night exams were over, we all gathered in the common area. Whether it was reflexive habit or a conscious decision we all made, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful for it. It had been weeks since we had all been together in one room without a binding reason like class or the gala. I remembered, with a sharp pang, the times last year when I would have sat on the floor, back against Oliver’s legs.

He sat now, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, deep in discussion with Gabriel about a Debussy piece that had been played for us in our history exam.

“I just think it would have been better with a piccolo, that’s all.” Gabriel looked up at him from where he sat on the floor. Audra was nestled against his chest, reading through her script for The Magic Flute, her lips moving, voice inaudible.

“You can’t just say a piece would have been _better_ if it was different.” Oliver countered. “It would just be different.”

“If I could talk to Debussy about it though –”

“Debussy is dead, so you can’t.”

This made Gabriel laugh. “Touché.” He extended a hand to Oliver, and they bumped knuckles.

Gabriel looked over at me, and in that brief second, I caught both superiority and amusement in his knowing glance.

My throat closed and I looked away.

Cecily was trying, without much luck, to light a fire in the grate. Because it was nearly November, the usually crisp mountain air was heavy, dampening fabrics and skin. I ripped a piece of paper from my notebook and offered it to her, which she took, and from which she was able to procure a whisper of flame, though it went out almost immediately.

“Can you believe we’re going to be onstage in less than two months?” Audra had looked up from her book.

Colin groaned. “Don’t _you_ start.”

She shot him a withering look. “I’m excited, that’s all!”

Cecily was having no luck with the fire. I scrambled over to help her on my hands and knees, the two of us blowing furiously at the half-hearted flame.

“I can’t believe we just finished exams – not even finals, just midterms – and you’re excited about more work.” Oliver rubbed his eyes. “I’m not even excited about getting up off of this couch, and if I do that, it means I can go to sleep.”

Audra snapped her book shut. The sharp crack echoed off the concrete walls. “Don’t tell me you don’t get the shivers when you think about performing for the jurors. This is probably going to be one of the most important performances of our career!”

Gabriel groaned, then yawned into his closed fist. “I think you might be the only one excited about that right now.”

He leaned forward and massaged Audra’s shoulders. She closed her eyes, looking only slightly irritated by his comment.

The wind outside howled, gusts shaking the thin panes of the window. Any progress Cecily had made on the fire was promptly erased, and she sat back on her haunches, shaking her head.

It was unusually quiet in the room.

The floor was cold under my knees, the concrete leaching me body heat from me.

Apparently, her failure with the fire had annoyed Cecily. She huffed, loud, then again, louder. “Enough of this.”

It was the first time I had heard her speak since we had come out of the exam. She sounded like she was choking on her words, holding back some sort of invisible misery.

The rest of the group looked up, slightly stunned at her ferocity.

Hannah’s eyebrows drew slightly together, then she looked away.

Cecily stood up, shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m going to bed.”

Colin’s gaze followed her as she stalked of the room, then he unfolded himself and stood, walking over to the window where he peered out into the gloom of the evening.

After it appeared that there would be no more outbursts, Oliver and Gabriel resumed their cautious conversation about Debussy. Audra re-opened her book.

I joined Colin at the window.

He had pressed his nose up against the glass, his breath fogging the pane in front of him.

“Do you know what’s going on with her?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Close to the window, it was several degrees cooler, raising the hairs on my arms.

His breathing stilled, but he did not look at me. His glasses pressed up so close to the pane they nearly touched it.

It had started to rain, tiny droplets pelting the window, blurring the mountain outside.

“Yes.” He was barely whispering.

“But you aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“Of course I’m not.” Now he did look at me.

There was a clock just behind me. I hadn’t noticed it until that moment, but in the eerie silence that followed his proclamation, the second hand ticked, a hemiola to my breathing.

If I had thought this was going to be a normal evening, I was sorely mistaken. I realized right then that I badly wanted to tell him about Gabriel. I had to tell someone. I knew if I told him, he wouldn’t say a word to anybody else, but there was always a risk with Colin. Calculating as he was, he could never be unbiased. Once he knew your secrets, they were the paintbrushes he used to illustrate his prediction of who you were going to be and what you were going to do next.

My gaze rested on Hannah. She had been somehow apart from the conversation, in her own world. For once she was not surrounded by books and papers, or sitting with her binder, head bobbing along to whatever music she was trying to engrain in her bones. She stared at the wall, as though trying to learn something from the mottled cinderblocks.

Maybe I could tell Hannah. I knew before I had thought it through that I would. If anyone would understand why I had not told Audra, she would.

I glanced back to where Audra sat curled between Gabriel’s legs. She looked, for the first time that semester, almost at peace, as though there was nothing that could disrupt her little bubble. All was well, and yet, all was not well. My secret could destroy her.

I allowed myself, with a sticky relief, to consider what might happen if I did tell Audra. Would she break things off? Did she really know that Gabriel had been with other people, or had he just told me that to make me feel better about it? Audra was probably the most possessive person I could imagine. I felt certain that if she knew, her relationship with Gabriel would be over.

I didn’t need Audra to tell me to know that a breakup would be disastrous at this point in the semester. Now matter how convoluted her relationship with Gabriel was, it was routine, and Audra without routine was a woman gone feral.

I wouldn’t tell her. I always knew I wouldn’t. I hadn’t the first time, had I? Guilt prickled in my chest.

With Cecily gone, it felt like some of the air had left the room. Colin didn’t last ten minutes.

“It’s wrong this year, isn’t it?” He asked me, his voice low. There was something dark behind his words, and I didn’t like it, but I didn’t quite understand what he meant, either.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t tell me you weren’t think it too.”

I hadn’t been thinking it. I had been feeling it. I told him as much.

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be dramatic about it.”

“I’m not being dramatic.” I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s there before you think about it. The wrongness.”

He bit his lip. “It’s too much, with the seven of us. I think…”

I waited him to finish for a full minute before I realized he wasn’t going to.

He sighed. “I’m going to bed too.”

“You too?” For some reason, the thought gripped me with a kind of panic. “You can’t.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

I didn’t have a way to put into words what I felt: that if Colin left, all normalcy would come crashing down around us, and I would have to admit with finality that he was right, and that something was very wrong with this year. “What about our traditions?”

Post-exam tradition dictated that we stay up late to celebrate.

He passed a weary hand over his eyes. “With fourteen of us, it was fun. With the seven of us…” He glanced back towards the other four. “It feels forced.”

And with that, he strode away and out the door.

I considered leaving. I could go back to the room, I supposed. Likely I would find Cecily there, and the unspoken tension she was carrying like it was her personal burden. I didn’t relish the idea. I could stay here, with the four of them, marinating in my own secrets and guilt. That idea wasn’t appealing either.

Unbidden, my feet took me to the couch where Hannah sat, still staring blankly at the wall.

“Walk with me?” I asked.

She blinked up at me. For a moment, I thought she didn’t recognize me, wherever she was, so far away in her own mind. She did not seem as surprised by my offer as I thought she would be. “Where?”

I shrugged.

She got up.

We left the room without a word, and began walking in a silence that was almost uncomfortable. I didn’t realize that she was leading the way and I was following her until we rounded the bend towards the dining centre.

Hannah pushed open the wooden door and flicked on the lights. The hall bloomed, fluorescent. It was empty.

She strode to the far corner, where there was always a supply of hot water and cheap tea bags. She grabbed two mugs and wordlessly filled them, gesturing to a bench. “Sit.”

I sat.

“So.” She said, as she lowered herself down. She steepled her fingers and looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to tell me why you’ve been so mopey recently?”

I blinked. “I haven’t been… I’m not mopey.”

She waited.

“It’s midterm season.” I protested. “Everyone is moping.”

She dunked the tea bag in the hot water, watching the mug fill with swirling brown. “Nobody asks to go walking with no destination unless they have something to say.”

It was clear that she did not have anything else to say, and that the next part of the conversation was up to me.

I took a deep breath. “Gabriel and I... hooked up.”

“ _What?_ ” Her intake of breath was sharp. She looked at me, seemingly through me, her eyes blue and fierce. “When?”

“At the gala. After the gala. I –” I wrapped my hands around my mug of tea, then quickly removed them, the porcelain far too hot to touch. “I don’t know why.”

“Does Audra know?”

I shook my head.

“And that’s why you’ve been moping.” Hannah nodded as though she understood perfectly what it was like to be with another girl’s boyfriend and hold that secret on your own.

I shrugged.

“Do you…” Hannah bit her lip, looking as though she was trying to rearrange her words in her head. “Are you interested in Gabriel?”

I laughed, a sharp relief. “No. Not like that. It was just… meaningless.”

Hannah bit her lip, and didn’t say anything. I wondered whether she believed me.

“What? He hasn’t gotten with _you_ , has he?”

Hannah laughed, but the sound was grating, sardonic. She removed her tea bag and set it on a spoon. “No. Thank God. Could you imagine the fallout of that?”

My shoulders relaxed. I had not been aware of my secret fear: that I was not the only one.

“Actually, I think I’m the reason they’ve been so close recently.” She said, her voice soft. She looked up at the lights.

One of them was flickering. One of them was always flickering.

“Audra confessed that she was worried about me. Or something. I think she thought I was a threat.”

“To her and Gabriel?”

Hannah nodded. “I’m not sure why. It honestly had never occurred to me that it would worry her. I mean… he’s Gabriel, right? They’re so… _together_. I had no idea he’d cheat on her.”

I felt my cheeks burn.

“Anyway, I told her that I wasn’t interested, and that she shouldn’t worry. She seemed to think he had been making advances on me or something, though I’m not certain why…” She bit her lip. “Can you imagine him seriously dating anyone other than Audra?”

“No.”

“They’re cut from the same vicious kind of cloth.” Hannah said thoughtfully. “Though I worry more about him than her.”

“You worry about them?”

“I do. Don’t you?”

I shrugged. In honesty, it had never occurred to me to worry about them.

“They’re so… permanent. What’s going to happen when they start really performing? Out in the world? Do you think they think about it?”

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence. Her words struck an unpleasant, familiar chord with me. Hadn’t that been part of why I had chosen to break things off with Oliver? The decision seemed years away now, decades ago.

“Audra’s so…” Hannah hesitated, as though she knew what I was going to say. “I’m not saying anything bad about her.” She insisted hurriedly.

We both knew she was.

“I just think she’ll break him before he hurts her, do you know what I mean?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

Hannah sighed. “Audra’s capable of more than you think.”


	9. 8.

November hit us with a blustery anger. In the mountains, November was a frigid month that whispered of snow but never delivered. Students bundled under large bulky coats planned the shortest routes to their classes, cutting across indoor corridors wherever possible. The lake was a slow-moving creature, as close to freezing as it was possible to be without actually turning to solid ice. 

It seemed that there was a brief lull in the deadlines and assignments thrown our way, and though we all knew that technically this was to allow us time for memorization of our lines and music, more often than not we found ourselves gazing out windows, frittering hours on useless projects, picking up new pieces with a thrill of excitement only to abandon them hours later once the enthusiasm had faded.

It was, in other words, the worst time of the year. I paced the hallways like an angry cat, listless in my own helplessness to do anything of real value, while the rest of the school came alive.

There was music everywhere you went. A small chamber choir had started practicing Christmas Carols – much to Cecily’s chagrin – and no matter where I went in the main building, I could hear faint echoes of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’. Oliver and Gabriel, seemingly on a lark, had joined this group, and proceeded to pester the rest of us by breaking out into song when we least expected it.

I couldn’t figure out where they got their enthusiasm. Christmas Carols without snow on the ground felt as foreign as a Thanksgiving turkey in July, and when I told them as much, they only doubled their exuberance so that I left the room with my hands over my ears.

Neither Oliver nor Gabriel was speaking to me privately. Cecily was still out of sorts, and I hated that Colin knew about it and I didn’t. Audra and Hannah, the only ones of us taking memorization seriously, were buried in the practice rooms, out of sight and hearing.

I was, for the first time since I had arrived at Conolly, lonely. I took to walking the grounds by myself, bundled in scarves to keep the chill out. It was bitter out, a cutting kind of cold, but it provided me with something to do that did not involve pacing the same corridor over and over again.

The days began to blur, in their odd, restless way, and I felt, with rising panic, the deadlines looming. I still did not quite know my German lines, and by the time I felt enough anxiety about it to do anything useful, we were all packing our bags to go home for the reading week.

Not all of us had chosen to leave. Cecily, Hannah, and Colin were all staying behind, though I couldn’t quite figure out why of all people, Hannah and Colin would stay. Cecily was from Ontario, hailing from a small town in the north, and she claimed that it would take half of the break just to travel back and forth, so it made sense that she would choose to stay behind, but like me, both Hannah and Colin lived in Alberta. It was hardly a two hour drive from Conolly to Calgary, where Hannah and I lived, and even less to Cochrane, which was where Colin had grown up.

Despite this, I was the only Alberta native going home. I knew Audra and Gabriel were going to Saskatoon together, to visit Gabriel’s family, and that Oliver would be going home to British Columbia, and for a brief moment, I had teetered between the draw of home and the haven of the school sans my two biggest sources of frustration.

Home had, eventually, won out. I felt poisoned by Conolly, like something in my blood was itching, a bad feeling between my ribs. A break would do me some good, I had explained to Cecily, not quite believing it.

I had expected the drive home to release some of the tension within me. I’d been carrying a knot in my chest that made it hard to breathe, but as the bus from the town descended to the plains, it only tightened.

I felt miserable, for enough reasons that I couldn’t pinpoint any particular one. The semester had been exhausting, it was true, and the group felt different, but it had been different every year. What I felt, deep in my guts, was that this year was worse, somehow.

My reception at home eased this somewhat. My parents were thrilled I had decided to come back, and had made up my old room just as I had left it, though I found scraps of fabric behind the waste basket that suggested that my mother had temporarily been using it as her sewing room. This filled me with a melancholy aching, and even as I was welcome with warm embraces from both parents, I was reminded that I was a transient creature.

“You look tired.” My mother said, grabbing my chin with her hand to inspect my face. She’d cut her hair since the summer, and it had started curling, though I noted that she was still dying it black. Her face was not older since I had seen her, but more worried.

“I _am_ tired.” I pointed out. “It’s been a hard semester.”

This did nothing to allay her fears. She pursed her lips and turned back to the kitchen, where my father had retreated and was peeling potatoes.

I was not sure why I had expected to feel better once I was home. I felt even more restless, guilty for leaving, guilty for enjoying my time away. Our first meal felt awkward, like strangers getting to know one another. I listened to my father talk about his business and wondered when it was that I had become an adult.

We played cards after dinner until it was an appropriate time to go to bed. My parents explained that they’d started sleeping early recently, since my dad had started running before work.

So I was alone in my room at nine thirty on a Sunday, with a week ahead of me filled with more of the same. I considered working on memorization, but felt it was too early in the week to worry about it. For a brief moment, I considered seeing if my high school friends wanted to get together, until I remembered that most of them had gone off to universities in different provinces, and that I hadn’t spoken to the ones who remained in Calgary since I had graduated.

There was a landline in my room, though.

I picked it up, my fingers punching in the numbers. I could hear the methodical ringing on the other end before I’d even considered what I was doing.

“Hello,” Oliver’s voice sounded in my ear, closer than it had been all semester. “You’ve reached the Gray residence.”

“It’s Leah.” I said, relief bursting in my chest. I’d hoped he’d answer the phone, known that if he’d been home, he would. Oliver could never ignore a ringing phone.

There was a long stretch of silence, before Oliver sighed. “Leah. Why are you calling?”

The only option I had was the truth. “I don’t know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I think. It’s weird being home.”

“It’s weird being on the phone with you.” He said this pointedly. Then, a little more gently, “Did something happen?”

I didn’t know how to say that no, nothing was happening right now. It was more that it was happening all the time. “Not really.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re home already, I guess.”

“Yes.”

I could hear muffled laughter somewhere on his end, then boisterous yelling. “Are your brothers there?”

“They are. They want to know why I’m on the phone with my ex-girlfriend.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“What should I tell them?”

I bounced my heel on the bedframe until it started to hurt. “What do you want to tell them?”

This time his sigh was impatient. “Look, Leah. I’ve got to go, okay? I hope you have a good reading week.”

He hung up.

I looked for a long time at the chunky phone in my hand. I had spent long hours on this phone with Oliver last summer. Those conversations felt like they had happened to somebody else.

This time I punched the numbers in intentionally.

He picked up after two rings. “Leeeeeeaah.”

“Colin?”

“My girl.” There was a loud crash and then a sound of scrabbling. “Dropped the phone.” Colin’s voice was warmer than usual. “How’re you?”

“Have you been… drinking?” I squinted, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.

“I miss you already.” I thought he was going to ignore my question, but then he sighed heavily. “We played a drinking game.”

“Who?”

“Me n’ Cec n’ Hannah.”

I heard what sounded like a pillow hitting the receiver. I imagined he had fallen down onto his bed backwards, a movement I had seen him perform often.

“I just called Oliver.” I told him.

“Did you now?” Colin’s voice sharpened. “Be careful, my girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t mess with him. His heart. Fragile. Don’t.” His words seemed to be coming with great effort.

“I’m not messing with him. I just called, that’s all.”

“Hmmm.”

I thought Colin was going to elaborate, but instead he changed the subject.

“I know so many things.” He said dreamily. “I told them – I have to tell you too.”

I tilted my head, beginning to unzip my suitcase. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them…” Colin’s voice drifted off. “Nooo. It’s a secret. I told them a secret.”

“Didn’t you just say you were going to tell me?”

“A secret.” Colin repeated emphatically. “I feel like…”

“Like what?”

He made an incomprehensible noise.

“Colin, how much did you drink?”

“A whole lot.” He said simply. “Not enough.”

“Are you going to remember any of this tomorrow?” The words were sitting right there, a desperate confession. _Colin, I still love him. I think I might be a bad person._

“I remember everything.” The way he said it, I thought he must hate it.

“Tell me your secret.” I pressed.

He hung up.

I let out a huff of frustration, wishing ardently that I had chosen to stay at Conolly. The room felt ominously empty, and I flicked on a lamp, feeling that the overhead light didn’t fill the room enough. Even then, I wished I had something to make it feel less lonely.

I pulled out my memorization.

-

The next day was no better. My mother and I took a walk around the small community lake, her eyes tracking my face, though what she was searching for, I didn’t know. In the afternoon, I holed up in the basement to practice. Upon coming back upstairs in time to help her with dinner I found that she had dragged her chair next to the vent that connected the living room with the main living space downstairs, so that she could hear me. Neither of us acknowledged it.

When my father came home, it was a carbon copy of the previous evening. We ate dinner, played cards, and they went to bed, leaving me alone.

I decided to stay up in the living room rather than in my old empty bedroom, pulling an old favourite book off of the shelves to keep myself occupied until I felt I could sleep.

I was two chapters in when the phone rang.

I had no way of knowing whether or not the call was for me, but I _felt_ that it was. It was with hesitant fingers that I picked up.

“Woodley residence, Leah speaking.”

For a long moment, there was no response. I thought it must be an empty call, or a wrong number, and I was just about to hang up when he spoke.

“Leah.”

I felt my heart stutter. “Oliver?”

“In the flesh. Well, no, not in the flesh, but yeah. It’s me.”

I bit my lip, trying to stamp down a flood of emotions I couldn’t name. “Why are you calling?”

“I don’t know.”

I let myself laugh, though I felt like something was tightening in my chest. “Are you okay?”

I could practically hear his good-natured smile. “I’m okay. It’s weird being home.” There was a long, drawn out moment, before he asked, “How have you been?”

“In general?”

“Yeah. In general.”

I had been holding my breath, and I let it out in a shaky exhale. “I’m good. I’m okay, I think. It’s a lot, this semester. You know?” It was the most honest I had been with him in months.

“I know.”

“And you?”

“I’m alright. Excited for the production, but don’t tell anybody else that isn’t Audra. It seems blasphemous to be excited.”

Words came to me, unbidden. _I miss you_. I had to choke them back down. “I’m excited too. I have a fairly low-risk role, though. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

He swallowed. “I don’t think it’s bad. They’re going to be judging you on the gala more than the final performance, and you were… you were something else. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I was?”

“You were.”

“So were you.” I smiled despite myself at the memory of Oliver’s performance. “When the piano started I thought I was going to have a heart attack. But you did it.”

“I did.” He sounded bemused.

I wanted to ask _why did you really call?_ Instead I asked, “Why do you think they’re going to judge me on the gala and not the final?”

“Because you don’t have a solo in the final. You don’t really get a chance to showcase like the more prominent roles would. At least, that’s what Colin thinks. And you know Colin is usually right.”

The idea that he and Colin had been talking about me was like a knife twist in my gut. Pleasure and pain. “He usually is.”

Oliver sighed. “I should probably go. They’re playing games upstairs and they’ll notice if I’m gone too long.”

I shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The line went dead, and I hugged the phone to my chest, trying to make sense of the conversation. Why had he called me back again after our first conversation had been so stilted? Why had I called him in the first place? I felt sick to my stomach.

The next day was identical to the first, and in the evening, there was no phone call. I spent the night buried in my score, trying to memorize my entrances and exits, engraining the openings of each musical phrase into my memory.

On Wednesday my mother suggested I see if any of my friends were in town. I didn’t know how to tell her that there wasn’t anybody to see. All of my friends were scattered across the country. I wondered whether or not the three who had remained at Conolly were spending most of their time together. I didn’t feel jealousy at the thought so much as an uncomfortable sadness.

-

That night the phone rang.

“Hello?” I tried to make it sound like I hadn’t been waiting.

“Hi.”

An awkward pause. “How has your week been?”

“Loud.” He said, and then I knew why he had called. He used to call me his quiet, the place where his mind would still. The thought seized something in my chest and wouldn’t let go.

“I’ll trade you.”

“Gladly.” There was a sound like he was shifting positions. “Everyone went out to a bar.”

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t feel like it. Needed a break from them.”

Oliver had two brothers. I had met them, twice. Once the whole family had come to see our production, and I had gone last summer to their lake house for a week. I remembered how overwhelming their clamour had been, how I’d understood at once why Oliver was so subdued. “I don’t know how you survive it.”

“You’re one to talk. Your house is practically a tomb.”

My breath caught in my throat. It was odd to remember that he had been here in this room with me once. My parents thought he was on the blow-up air mattress downstairs - and admittedly, he had started the night down there – but once they had gone to bed, he had crept upstairs shirtless, silent in the dark. My pulse fluttered in my neck; I was simultaneously living in this moment, with the phone cord wrapped around my finger, and that moment a year and a half ago, with my hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

I wondered idly if he was also thinking about my tomb of a house that night, silent but for the sounds of our breathing. “I wonder if my parents are okay.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s quieter than usual. My mom looks at me like she’s afraid I’m going to shatter.”

There was a long silence. “I worry about that too, sometimes.”

I could feel my heartbeat in my fingers. “I’m okay. I am.”

“I know.” He sighed.

I bit my lip, unsure how to proceed.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked in a rush, like he’d been holding it in and had to get it out all in one breath.

I lay back on the bed, rested my hand on my chest. “About…”

He let out an impatient huff of air. “About the fact that you broke up with me and we haven’t had a civil moment in months and now we’re talking on the phone like everything is fine?”

Leave it to Oliver to put everything out there, no holds barred.

My question came out laced with caution. “What do you want to know?”

“Why?”

The question hung in the air. I sighed. “Why did I do it or why is this happening?”

“Either would be enlightening.”

I worked at a fray in the bedspread. “I only have the answer to one of those questions and I don’t think it’s a smart idea to tell you.”

“Am I just going to be stumbling around in the dark until it stops –” he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know Gabriel knows why you did it. And he won’t tell me.”

“How do you know he knows?” I sat up straight, alarm raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Surely Gabriel hadn’t told Oliver the truth.

“I didn’t. But thanks for confirming it.” His voice sounded a little strangled. “Why did you tell him?”

“It was a trade.” I spoke before I’d considered how the words might sound. “To know about what was happening with Audra.”

His voice had gone flat. “A trade.”

“Not like, a commodity. He wouldn’t tell me anything unless I told him.”

“God, Leah. You’re a… you’re unbelievable. You tell Gabriel so he can what, lord it over me that he knows and I don’t?”

“I didn’t think he was going to tell you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t…” I tried to make my words make sense, but they felt scrambled. “I don’t think I really owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, but you’ll give one to Gabriel like it’s currency?” Oliver’s voice was strained.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I said weakly.

He scoffed. “Leah, this is all we’ll ever talk about. It’s underneath everything we ever say to each other. You know that, don’t you?”

I closed my eyes. I did know.

He waited for me to say something, and when I didn’t, he just sighed. “Goodnight, Leah.”

The line went dead.


	10. 9.

I was wondering about Colin’s secret. Rather, I was wondering about anything other than Oliver, which led me around in circles back to Colin.

Out of pure boredom, I had called the boy’s room at Conolly just to see if he was there, but he hadn’t answered, so I had to assume that he was either with Hannah and Cecily or sequestered somewhere in the depths of the library. It had occurred to me that maybe Colin was just drunk, and there was no secret, but something about the earnestness of his tone even while inebriated had convinced me that he was keeping something under wraps so huge that it had taken a drinking game to get it out of him.

It was my last day at home. For some reason this seemed to make my mother nervous. She was like a ghost in the house, moving from room to room soundlessly, moving porcelain figurines and wiping the surfaces, though they were already free of dust.

In the afternoon I made myself a cup of tea and sat on the deck, even though it was below freezing, hoping that the cold would numb everything, not just my body. I felt, after my conversation with Oliver, that something had fractured in me, irreparable. Would it be different when we went back? Would all of our conversations for the rest of the year be ghosts of last night?

At the dinner table that night, my father cleared his throat. “So.” He sounded like he was preparing himself for a difficult conversation. “Leah. What are your plans after graduation?”

It was our last dinner before I returned to Conolly, and I wasn’t sure why, but it felt imbued with formality. My mother had used the fine china, which I wanted to find amusing, but instead it filled me with overwhelming nostalgia.

I blinked at him. “Um.” The truth was, my plans were vague. “I’m going to perform.”

“We know that.” My mother nodded. “We’re just curious about the specifics.”

I realized then that the two of them had talked about this, planned this conversation. The idea made me bristle. “If I get a good role in the winter production, I’m pretty much guaranteed a position with an opera company, or a performance league of some kind.”

“Where?”

I shrugged. “I’m not quite certain.”

Though nothing about the conversation was aggressive, there was a tension in the air, its origin untraceable.

I continued. “I’ll go wherever I get called, I guess. Could be Paris.”

My mother began to cry.

I stared at her, jaw slack. My mother did not cry.

My father put a hand on hers.

“We knew it was coming.” She wiped hastily at her eyes. “I guess I just didn’t realize that you wouldn’t be moving back this year.”

I smiled thinly. “You can have a sewing room.”

For some reason, this did not cheer her up.

My father was staring me down. “What if you don’t get an offer?”

I frowned. “I will. It’s Conolly.”

“But if you don’t?”

Realization dawned, an ugly sunrise. “You don’t think I have what it takes, do you? You think that because I got a small part for this production, I won’t make it in the real world?”

“I’m just being practical.” My father raised his hands in surrender. “I’m asking you to consider what would happen if you didn’t get an offer. What would your job prospects be?”

I gaped at him, open mouthed. “I’ll… stay at Conolly. I’ll work part time jobs, whatever I can get.”

“But you’re not coming back.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“If you can’t get gigs, you’ll have a place here.”

Even though this was a gesture of kindness, indignant anger flared in my chest. “You think I’m not going to be able to get gigs.”

He sighed heavily. “Not exactly. I just want you to practical.”

“So you’ve said.” I twisted my napkin between my fingers, working the fibers as tight as they would go. “I’m not coming back. I’ve moved out now. That’s it. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

“For people who choose real careers.” He picked up his fork and began to eat, as though he had merely commented on the weather.

That was the final blow. I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. “Music _is_ a real career.”

He looked surprised that I was arguing with him. “For one in a million, maybe.”

“And you don’t think I could be that one.”

He just stared back at me.

Without another word, I turned and left the room, stalking up the stairs. I felt it would be childish to slam the door so instead I closed it with a careful snap.

I perched on the edge of my bed, fuming. My dad had always made it clear that he didn’t feel a career in music would be a viable choice, but I had thought that my success at Conolly would change his mind. He’d wanted me to go into chemical engineering like he had, I remembered. My marks had been fine in high school. I could have followed in his footsteps if I had wanted to, but I’d been so clearly passionate. How long would I have to fight to convince him that I was happy and that this choice would lead me to success?

I had picked up the phone, my fingers were hovering over the numbers. I punched them in.

He picked up on the second ring. “Leah.”

“Hi.” I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly afraid I was going to cry. I had been afraid he wouldn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?”

I loved and hated that he knew something was wrong with just one word from me. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed, a long drawn out breath. “For what?”

“Everything. Shutting you out. Not telling you the truth. Telling Gabriel instead.”

After a second, I thought he had hung up, but then he spoke. “I honestly didn’t think you would own any of that.”

“I’m sorry.” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. “I really am.”

“Thank you.”

He had not, I noticed, forgiven me, but the acknowledgement was better than nothing.

“I –” The explanation bubbled up inside me, and I realized right then that I _wanted_ to tell him, at least the part of the truth that was just about us and not about me being the worst person on the planet.

“You’re right that you don’t owe me anything.” He was speaking carefully. “I wish you had…” His voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat. “Why did you call?”

“To apologize.”

“But what happened?”

I hated that he knew me so well. “Couldn’t I have just wanted to say I’m sorry?”

“But there was something else.”

“There was.” I leaned back on the bed, propping myself on my elbows.

“Are you going to tell me what it was?”

I bit my lip and twisted the cord of the phone around my finger. “My dad doesn’t think I’ll make it as a singer.”

“This again? He’s always on you about it. Of course you’re going to make it as a singer.” He sounded incredulous. “You made it to third year, didn’t you?”

It felt arrogant to tell him that _I_ wasn’t worried, so I didn’t. “He isn’t convinced. He said music isn’t a real career.”

“I knew your dad never liked me that much, but I thought it was because he’s a little racist. I didn’t think it was because he thought I was pursuing a fake career.”

I had to laugh a little at this. “He is kind of racist, isn’t he?”

“ _Kind_ of?”

“Oh, god.” I buried my face in my hands. “I was trying to forget about all that.”

When my parents had first met Oliver, my father had taken one look at him and rounded on me. “You’re dating a _Muslim_?”

It had taken ages to move past that, even longer to explain to him that Oliver’s appearance didn’t mean anything about religious choices, and that even if he _was,_ that wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

He’d come around, eventually, in a begrudging fashion that had felt patronizing even then, but I’d always suspected that he was relieved when we’d broken up.

“Didn’t he like to make jokes about me going to hell?” Oliver didn’t sound troubled. “I don’t know how many times I told him that my family was Greek Orthodox.”

“Don’t remind me, please.” I groaned. “I just wish he’d be less intolerant in general.”

“That’s my point. Your dad doesn’t know everything.” Oliver spoke smoothly. “You don’t have to listen to him and you certainly don’t have to worry about life after Conolly.”

“I just wish they would be proud of me.” I blinked rapidly, looking towards the ceiling. “I wish I didn’t care what they thought.”

“They are proud of you. In their own way.”

I sniffed a little bit, my vision blurred. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends.” He paused. “Maybe we aren’t. I don’t know. I liked it better when we were.”

“So did I.”

There was an unspoken question in the air.

I realized I had known before I had even dialled his number then I was going to tell him tonight. “I ended it because I was afraid.”

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. “Of what?”

I fought with the words, trying to wrestle them into a shape that wouldn’t make me sound like the worst person in the world. “The future.”

He made a noise I couldn’t interpret. “This isn’t making me feel better.”

“It didn’t feel great at the time either.”

He waited.

“Look, it hit me that one day we were going to graduate, and then what? Wouldn’t it hurt so much more to break things off then, after another year together?”

“Who says we would have had to?”

“Wouldn’t life have taken us in opposite directions? Two performers – it just isn’t realistic.”

“What about Gabriel and Audra? You should hear Gabriel talk about it. He thinks they’re for life.”

I wondered how much of this was just bravado, him bragging to the boys.

“He’s got this plan – don’t tell Audra, obviously – he’s got this idea to propose after the winter performance.”

I felt my stomach drop several inches. “What?”

“Colin was absolutely apoplectic. He went berserk, gave him this long lecture about responsibility and all that. But he seemed set on it.”

“You think it’s going to work out?”

“Don’t you? They’re made for each other.”

I bit my lip. “I just – I can’t picture that life. Two performers, constantly travelling? Maybe it’ll work out for them. I don’t know.” I thought about what Hannah had said about the two of them. “Gabriel and Audra… they’re cut from the same vicious kind of cloth.”

“And we aren’t?”

The question said more about how he felt than anything he had said to me in months.

“Oliver…”

“Sorry. It’s just… I can’t get my head around it. You ended things because you were afraid of us breaking up later?”

I felt a hard lump forming in my throat. “That was… part of it. I – I wasn’t ready.”

“A full year and you weren’t ready?”

“You deserved better than me.”

“Shouldn’t I be allowed to decide whether or not that’s true?”

“Oliver – I –” I looked down into my lap, heart a solid stone. “I’m not as good of a person as you think I am.”

“Does that matter? We…” Oliver swallowed hard. “We loved each other. Wasn’t that enough?”

A tear fell, hot on my cheeks. I swiped it away. “No. I – I _really_ messed things up, Oliver.”

I could picture him on the other end, phone pressed to his ear. He wouldn’t cry, I knew, because Oliver never cried.

“If loving each other was all that mattered, I’d get back together right now.” I could feel my hands trembling with adrenaline.

“You still –” Oliver exhaled through his nose.

It was out there now. “But love can’t be all that matters.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. “I can love you and still hurt you. And there’s the future to think about. There’s hundreds of successes and failures and _years_ of being apart before we could even consider settling anywhere – is that the kind of life you want?”

“You sound like your dad.” His words were barbed.

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is what you’re saying.”

“I don’t know how to say anything different. It’s what I believe. It’s not like I just thought about it for two seconds and then ended things. I just had to grieve it before you did.”

“How long were you thinking about ending it before you did?”

“I don’t think that’s a fair question.”

“It isn’t, but I still want to know.”

I sighed. “Look, Oliver. I don’t know how to make this better. I just… I don’t want to be strangers anymore.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want every conversation we have to be a fight. If I could snap my fingers and just know whether or not everything was going to work out, I would. Believe me. In a heartbeat.”

“So we’re just going to pretend, then?” All of the fight had gone out of his voice. “I’m going to have to look at you in class, listen to you perform and pretend it doesn’t kill me that there’s nothing between us?”

“There doesn’t have to be nothing.”

“What, you want to try and pretend to be ‘just friends’ then?”

“Isn’t that better than nothing?”

There was a long pause.

Oliver sighed. “Leah, I don’t know if it is.”

-

My return to Conolly was perhaps even more unremarkable than my departure had been. Neither my parents nor I had mentioned the conversation the night before, but the drive to the bus station had passed in silence, and when they dropped me off, I thought they looked a little bit relieved. In honesty, I felt relief too when I mounted the steps to the bus. I hadn’t anticipated that I would look forward to returning as much as I was, and I found my chest swelling with anticipation when the ride began, even with the reunion with the group looming.

I wasn’t sure how things stood with Oliver. The way our conversation had ended last night left a bad taste in my mouth, and I couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that accompanied telling the truth.

At any rate, he knew a tiny part of the truth. I hoped the rest of it would stay a secret. I had inferred the whole truth when I was talking to Gabriel, but I wasn’t sure if he had figured it out. The whole truth was this: I had known, from the moment he had appeared at my window, that if I was going to choose somebody forever, it would be Oliver. The thought of circumstance dragging us apart terrified me far more than the idea of cutting it off early, and so I had chosen the latter option to spare us both grief, and accepted the possibility of a life alone.

And then there had been Gabriel. Fear and temptation. Guilt and resentment burned at the back of my throat.

The bus rounded the corner, and the first thing my eyes landed on was the tower, stark against the blue sky, a watchful eye overlooking everything that went on beneath. The day was deceivingly fair, the air crisp and brilliantly sunny. The seasonal leaves had all dropped, but the evergreen tress draped the mountainside, providing splashes of life to the otherwise brown and grey campus.

When I stepped outside onto the brittle grass, lugging my suitcase behind me, the wind cut through my jacket, bitter cold. The windows of the castle were like empty eye sockets, unseeing yet still watching. Without the usual clamour of instruments within and students outside, Conolly was ghostly, an empty shell.

The large wooden front doors opened with an extended creak, and at once I was bathed in the warmth of the entrance hall. Inside, it was eerily quiet.

My suitcase rattled along the stone floor as I made my way to the girls dorm. It was empty. For once, Cecily had made the bed, tucking even the blankets under the mattress like a nurse. I frowned at it before dumping my suitcase in the corner.

I set out back through the hallways almost immediately, looking for anybody, though I wasn’t certain who would be back yet besides the three who had stayed behind the whole week.

Nobody was in Hannah and Audra’s room, which was open, and the door to the boys room was closed and locked. Either Colin was inside, dead to the world, or he was elsewhere. I surmised the latter, considering that Colin was a light sleeper.

I was halfway down the corridor when there was a noise behind me. I whipped around.

Oliver stood at the end of the hall, still in his dark winter jacket, scarf wrapped around his neck. His nose and ears were still pink from the cold, and he held his suitcase at a jaunty angle, stopped in his tracks.

We stood there, just looking at each other, for several long seconds counted out by the echoing clock in the girls’ room.

“Hi.” He said at last.

I had an inexplicably strong urge to run and fling my arms around him, but my feet were glued to the floor. “You’re back.”

“So are you.”

He was watching me like I was a bomb about to go off.

“Was it an easy drive?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have to. I flew in from Edmonton. Caught the bus from there.”

It was a longer route to Conolly from Edmonton than from Calgary. I wondered if he’d avoided the city on purpose.

As if he’d read my mind, he elaborated. “Cheaper flight.”

“Oh.” My voice was higher than usual.

He had not broken eye contact. “I haven’t –” He stopped himself, shook his head slightly. There was a firm set to his jaw. He walked down the hall, fumbling in his pockets before pulling out a set of keys. He turned to the door, unlocked it, tossed his suitcase inside, and turned towards me. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said.”

I didn’t – couldn’t – say anything.

“I respect your choice.” He closed the distance between us in a few steps, stopping just in front of me. “I do. Your decisions are yours, and it’s not my place to try to convince you of anything otherwise.”

“That’s very…” I scrambled for the words. He was to close to me for me to make sense of anything. “Thank you. I think.”

“Leah.” There was an urgency to his voice. “I want to pretend. Just for a second. I have to know. Would you still have ended it if it weren’t for performing?” His eyes were imploring, large and green. The afternoon light was caught in his eyelashes. I had always admired how long they were.

“That isn’t a fair question.” My pulse was rabbiting in my neck. There were so many things he didn’t _know_.

He waited.

I closed my eyes, swallowed hard. Guilt flooded through me when I thought about Gabriel, all of the things I’d never told him. When I spoke, it was so quietly I wasn’t sure if he would even be able to hear it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I felt his hand on my waist and I opened my eyes just in time to see him leaning towards me. My eyes fluttered shut, hope flaring, burning, _burning_.

He kissed me like he was trying to understand me, softly, gently, lips parted, lingering for just a moment before pulling back.

“I knew it.” He whispered, and then he turned and walked down the hall, leaving me standing there, a pillar of ash and dust and agony.


	11. 10.

I found Colin and Hannah in the library, their heads bent together as they sat by the fire, whispering.

When I entered the room, they both looked up, wearing identical expressions of surprise, though Colin was much quicker to adopt a facade of neutrality.

“You’re back.” He said. “Good. We were just saying that it’s been far too quiet this week.”

Upon closer inspection, Hannah looked like she had been crying, her eyes rimmed red and puffy, nose pink. She turned when she saw me looking, busying herself with stacking her script so that the edges lined up, crisp and even.

I decided not to ask. “I’ll bet it hasn’t been as quiet here as it was at home.”

“Ah yes, at the crypt.” Colin mimed picking up a telephone. “Hello, Woodley residence, corpse number three speaking.”

I rolled my eyes, swatting at him, but he sidestepped me. “All I’m saying is, I’m glad to be back.”

“Your presence will be greatly appreciated. It’s been an…” He glanced at Hannah, “Interesting week, to say the least.”

“Have you seen Cecily?” I asked. “I thought she’d be with the two of you. She wasn’t in our room when I got here.”

At this, Hannah stiffened.

Colin stood up, leaping over the back of the couch in one deft motion. “Not sure where she is. She’s been MIA the last day or two.”

I frowned, looking at Hannah, who appeared to be deliberately not making eye contact with me. “Sounds like an interesting week indeed.”

-

By dinnertime, there were six of us back at Conolly, Gabriel and Audra returning just in time to stride into the entrance hall hand in hand, where Colin, Hannah and I were waiting for the doors of the dining centre to open.

They looked happier together than I had seen them in weeks, their fingers interlocked, both beaming as they crossed the stone floor. When they reached the three of us, Gabriel let go of her hand and pulled her close by the waist, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“Good trip?” Colin surveyed the two of them with barely contained distaste.

I had never quite understood his attitude toward them. He seemed to take their happiness as a personal affront.

“It was lovely. Not too much snow, and it was a good break from classes.” Audra leaned against Gabriel.

“Glad some of us had a good time.” Colin’s voice was sardonic as he shook a lock of hair out of his eyes and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

Behind us, footsteps echoed through the hall, audible even over the buzz of the students that were slowly trickling in from the dormitories.

Oliver was striding towards us.

My stomach lurched.

His hair was wet – he must have showered – and he had changed out of his travel clothes. He looked at me once, searchingly, then turned his attention to the others.

I felt something in my chest pang – an ache, foreign and familiar.

Gabriel broke away from Audra, and he and Oliver exchanged a series of slaps on the back.

“My good man.” Gabriel grinned, shark teeth glinting. “How was the west coast?”

“Very green.” Oliver smiled thinly, then, scanning the group, frowned. “Where’s Cecily?”

Hannah and Colin exchanged a glance. I had, once again, the lurching uncomfortable sensation that they both knew something I didn’t.

Colin’s expression was one of practiced neutrality. “Your guess is as good as mine. Haven’t seen too much of her today.”

At Gabriel’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated hurriedly. “I wouldn’t worry. She’s just being Cecily.”

This seemed to dissolve the issue. Cecily had, on more than one occasion, disappeared to the remote corners of other faculties, falling into step with her artist friends, spending hours at a time with the string players. I was never too surprised by the sudden change, but it had always felt like a sharp reminder that though she was one of my closest friends on campus, I wasn’t nearly as high on her list. Cecily was a chameleon, somehow, even though she was all sharp angles and brutal quips. She managed to appeal to people in a way that had gotten her into the third year at Conolly, a quality Dr. Davis called ‘the draw of the line-walker’ on more than one occasion.

It felt a little bit as though the time apart had mended the rifts that had begun to form between us. At dinner, Gabriel and Oliver amused us with jokes that were made all the more amusing by Colin’s quick and sarcastic responses, while Hannah, Audra and I rolled our eyes at them and tried to maintain our own conversation.

I found myself watching Oliver on more than one occasion, looking for anything that hinted towards what he was thinking, or if he was thinking about what had happened earlier between us. My lips still tingled, the memory of him alive everywhere on me.

I caught Colin looking at me while I was looking at Oliver. He raised an eyebrow and I shook my head surreptitiously. I didn’t like the way he was smirking, and so I scowled at him until he turned away.

I wasn’t surprised, though, when he accosted me after the meal, whisking me out of the entrance hall under the pretences of having something to show me in the library.

“So.” He sounded weary. “What’s happened, then?”

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp. “With?”

“You and Oliver, obviously. _Something_ happened this week. I know you called him, and now you’re staring all doe-eyed at him like he’s breaking your heart.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What happened here this week?”

He blinked. “Nice deflection.”

I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. “If you get to keep secrets, so do I.”

“I’m not –” He looked annoyed. “Secrets?”

“I’m not an idiot. I know something is wrong. You said Cecily is just being Cecily, but I have a feeling that something more is going on here. I just want to know what.”

Colin made a noise of impatience, scuffing his shoe on the ground. “That’s not my business to tell.”

“So there _is_ a secret. You could at least tell me what you told them.” I hadn’t realized how annoyed I was until that exact moment. “You can’t demand to know all of my secrets and not tell me any of yours.”

“I can when your secrets involve the well-being of my best friend.”

I tried not to let it bother me that with that one sentence he’d made it clear who’s side he was on. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“No. And I shouldn’t have told them anything, either. Listen, what happened here this week – it’s ugly. Don’t get involved. Don’t ask either of them about it, I can tell you right now that you won’t get anything out of them.”

“Cecily is my friend. She’ll come around.”

He shook his head emphatically. “She won’t. You don’t know anything about her.”

I stepped backwards, feeling like I had been slapped. “What gives you the right to say that? We’ve been roommates for two and a half years. I’d say I know quite a lot more about her than you do.”

“You can live with someone for half of your life and not know anything of significance about them.”

I bit my lip hard enough that it hurt. “Colin. What happened?”

He glowered at me. “Like I said, it’s not my business to tell.”

-

Classes began again as if with a sudden fury. The professors, apparently convinced that we had been graced with a glorious break from work, piled assignments on top of our work for the opera. By my third class on the first Monday back, I already had two essays to write, a play to read, and several new pieces to learn, so it was with foreboding that I stepped into the auditorium where our staging classes were to take place.

I had never been to the first staging rehearsal of a production. In second year, banished to the chorus section, I hadn’t even had to be concerned with staging until November was almost over, but now that we had leading roles we were expected to arrive at the first rehearsal with everything memorized, so that we could begin the aspect of preparation I had been dreading: movement while singing.

I had no problem with performing, when I could be myself, or even an enhanced version of myself. When I had performed the aria from Carmen at the gala, I had been the only one on stage that I had had to worry about. Add a set, and other bodies on stage, and the game was different. Though we had weeks until the performance, and it was just a handful of us in the room with the Dr. Ritter, I still felt nerves bubbling in the pit of my stomach when I walked across the stage to where the group was gathering.

There were about a half-dozen people in the room, milling around. I was relieved to see that Cecily was there, having spent the morning worrying that she would never come back. I knew that she had come back to sleep, as the bed was no longer made in the morning, but she’d come back to the room long after I had fallen asleep, and had taken some effort to get up and out before I had woken the next morning.

I thought about what Colin had said. Did I know her? I thought I did. I knew that she wore paint splattered on her arms like accessories, that she didn’t care what anybody thought of her, but that she cared deeply about her art, whether on the canvas or on stage. What else did I know about her? Did I really know what went on inside her head? It was with a heavy remorse that I had to admit that I didn’t. Cecily and I weren’t the type to spend our evenings in deep conversation. Our interactions were civil, but beyond that, we didn’t really know one another.

I offered a tentative smile when I saw her. She looked weary, a little listless, swaying back and forth like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her body now that she was standing in a group. She carried her script but was gripping it with a force I was not used to seeing.

I gestured with a jerk of my head, and she followed me wordlessly to the pews, where we sat with everybody in the group.

I glanced around for Mariah, the third of our trio, but was surprised when I didn’t see her face anywhere among the group.

The first half of the class, Dr. Ritter had us read through the script. We moved along faster than we would once we were performing, skipping over the solo songs or any musical interludes in order to get through it and get an idea of when we had to be ready. I was pleasantly surprised that my work had paid off – my German no longer felt clunky in my mouth, but flowed easily as I followed along the translation that I had written underneath.

I had been wondering what would happen when we got to the scene with the three ladies, but instead of the awkward silence I had been expecting where Mariah was supposed to speak, a mousy second year spoke up, stumbling through the German in an awkward, halting fashion.

Dr. Ritter raised an eyebrow, glancing in her direction, but did not stop the operation in its tracks.

Once we had made it through the script in its entirety, he stood on the stage and addressed us as a group. “I hope you understand now the enormity of the work we have ahead of us.” He was pacing, his thumbs hooked around his suspenders. “We have just short of one month to get these characters out of our heads and into our bodies, then onto the stage. This performance is going to be unlike anything we have ever pulled together here at Conolly.”

I heard Gabriel, who was sitting only a few feet away, remark under his breath to Colin, “I’ll bet he says that every year.”

Colin whispered back. “I’ll bet he’s going to say that exact thing to us next semester.”

Though they were probably right, Ritter’s speech had roused within me some kind of determination to prove that I could, though I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to prove that to the faculty or to myself. I could tackle acting.

My determination wavered once we were all on stage.

“Excuse me?”

The second-year girl was at my shoulder, and both Cecily and I jumped.

“Jesus.” Cecily put a hand over her heart. “Who are you?”

“Are you Leah?” The girl looked to Cecily.

I scrutinized her. “ _I_ am.”

The girl stuck out a hand. She had hair that was neither curly or straight, settling somewhere in between as a cloud of yellow frizz. Her two front teeth were set wide, giving her smile a lopsided look. “I’m Roseanne. Roseanne Braun. I was understudy for Mariah, and since she’s gone now, I’ll be the second lady.”

I frowned at her. “Mariah’s gone?”

Roseanne shrugged. “That’s what I was told.”

“Why?” Cecily’s voice was harsh, and Roseanne took a step backwards.

“I don’t know. They just said she was leaving, so I would have to take over. A little scary.” She looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t really know the material.”

I didn’t have much time to worry about this new revelation, as Dr. Ritter was gestured for us to begin.

The second run-through, this time on stage, was a disaster, though fortunately not because of us. Dr. Ritter kept stopping the show, insistent on pronunciation correction.

“By God, you’re a bunch of goons.” He grumbled, addressing Colin and Gabriel, who had the good graces to look abashed.

He had been sitting in the pews to watch us, but was now huffing as he climbed up to the front. “Didn’t you spend two months on this already? I know that you’re singers by trade but at least _try_ to put some life into it. You should be past pronunciation already. You should _know_ this.”

Beside me, Roseanne shuddered a little bit. For her sake, I was glad we were not involved in this scene.

“I’m not even asking you for staging yet. I’m just asking you to say the lines like an actor. Don’t just read it like it’s a grocery list. Make me _believe you_.”

I had the impression that this was going to be a long month.

During the break, the seven of us stood around the water fountain.

“Mariah’s gone.” I told them. “Did you know that?”

Gabriel frowned at me. “What?”

“Gone like, _gone_?” Audra squinted at me. “What do you mean?”

“God, her replacement is awful.” Cecily was shining an apple on her shirt. “Did you hear her?”

Noting that Roseanne was well within earshot, I elbowed Cecily in the ribs.

“I heard that she dropped out of the program.” Colin mused.

I glowered at him, still annoyed at his elusiveness on the weekend. Of _course_ he knew.

“Why?” Gabriel leaned forward. “Has anyone said?”

Audra shrugged. “If there’s a reason besides ‘this wasn’t what I thought it would be and I want to go home to my mommy’, I haven’t heard.”

This was a condition that seemed to afflict many students in their first year at Conolly.

“Mariah wasn’t like that, though.” Hannah looked as annoyed with Colin as I felt. “She had _so_ much drive. Anyone who talked to her could see that. She wouldn’t have just… dropped out.”

“Maybe she changed her mind.” Gabriel was speaking slowly. “Maybe she decided to do something else.”

“I heard it was health issues.” Colin said.

“What kind of health issues?” Gabriel frowned.

“Aren’t you full of questions?” Colin asked coolly. “I don’t know.”

As I watched, he caught Hannah’s eye, and something flickered between them. I frowned, and saw, to my surprise, that Audra was also looking between the two of them, her face etched with worry.

“Whatever it is, I feel sorry.” She said thoughtfully. “She kind of reminds me of me in my first year, you know?”

“You mean, better than everyone else?” Cecily was disdainful.

This made everyone laugh, and Audra flush pink. “No, not necessarily.” The embarrassment in her voice made it clear that it was, in fact, exactly what she had meant.

The conversation was cut short by a loud barking from Dr. Ritter calling us back onto the stage.

I went, though my limbs felt heavy as I did so. If Mariah quit, what luck did the rest of us have?


	12. 11.

I was determined to find Gabriel, but something made me think he knew this, because it seemed nearly impossible to find him on his own. Whenever I would see him in the corridor, if I managed to catch his eye, he would mutter something about being late to his next class and dash in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t until after our history class when I observed him waiting to talk to the professor that I found my chance.

I waited around in the corridor, and when he came outside, book bag slung over his shoulder, I pushed off the wall and stood in the center of the hallway. “Gabriel.”

He jumped, slapped a hand to his chest. “Jesus Christ. What?”

I waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to try to leave before I spoke. “Why?”

The light from the nearby window painted his features statuesque. He raised an eyebrow.

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

There was a guarded cautiousness to his expression. “I’m not sure I do.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

His wary gaze made it explicitly clear that this was exactly what he planned to do.

“What else could I be talking about?” I exploded. “Fine. Why –” the last few words were little more than a strangled whisper “– did we do that? Why did we let that happen?”

I might have imagined it, but it looked as though some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Oh.”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.”

“Leah.” He spoke as if to a child. “Come on.”

When I didn’t respond, he crossed his arms, a scowl deepening on his face. “I don’t know why, okay? I was drunk. You were right there.”

At the look on my face, he rubbed his face, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I don’t _know_ what I was thinking. You were so stubborn about not admitting the truth it was driving me crazy.”

Even though he hadn’t really clarified anything at all, I understood in a moment like a thunderclap.

The truth he’d been so insistent for. It wasn’t about me at all, it was that I loved someone else. The idea tasted bad in my mouth: Gabriel had a thing for things that were off-limits.

I pushed past that to my next question. “Why did you tell Oliver I had told you?”

At this, he looked genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising. “I didn’t.”

“Someone did.”

He shrugged. “Colin, probably.”

It had begun to rain, droplets smattering the windowpane with surprising force.

I blinked. “ _Colin_ knows?”

“Before you get mad at me, I didn’t tell him. He guessed that I knew.”

 _That_ made sense. I’d had a difficult time imagining Oliver just figuring it out on his own, but I had no trouble at all accepting that Colin had. This was exactly the kind of thing he was always watching for.

“I never told him _what_ you said, so I don’t see what the problem was.” Gabriel was elaborating, rubbing his temple. “He just figured out that you’d told me.”

“The problem,” I hissed through my teeth, “is that Colin told Oliver that you knew.”

“And?”

I threw my hands up in frustration, tugging a hand through my hair. “And Oliver was understandably upset that I had told you and not him.”

“I didn’t mean for him to find out, alright? I’ve already said that.” He stilled, regarding me with worry. “He doesn’t know about…?”

“No.” I answered so he didn’t have to finish.

He looked relieved. “Good. I don’t think he’d look kindly on it.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

It was clear that the conversation was over then, and I took the opportunity to exit, claiming I had to return a library book. It wasn’t true, but a lie felt much easier than walking all the way back to the dormitories with Gabriel.

To this day, I wonder if things would have turned out differently if I had gone with him. If I had simply taken a different route, if I had stayed on the second floor rather than taking the shortcut through the ground floor of the music wing, I never would have run into Hannah, and if I had not run into Hannah, it might have changed the sequence of events that followed.

When I turned the corner, Hannah was sitting on the windowsill of one of the large windows in the hallway that connected the dormitories to the rest of the school.

She was staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought, and jumped when I coughed to alert her to my presence.

“Oh, hello.” There was an odd, strained quality to her voice.

“Are you okay?” I walked towards her and perched on the windowsill.

“I’m alright.”

She didn’t look alright. I thought Hannah looked tired – everything about her posture indicated weariness, from the slump over her shoulders to the downward tilt of her neck.

“Look –” I faltered “– Colin said I shouldn’t ask, but I was wondering if you might know what’s going on with Cecily. I mean, you were here this week and I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like you were –”

“I don’t know what’s going on with her.” Hannah spoke quickly and firmly enough that it proved that she did, in fact, know.

I picked at one of my fingernails, feeling irritated. “Okay. It’s just – I can hardly get a word out of her. I’d want to know if something serious happened.”

When I looked up at Hannah, the tips of her ears had turned bright red. She was looking very deliberately out over the grounds, clearly not interested in telling me anything I didn’t already know.

I was just about to get up and continue my walk to the room, when she asked me a question I had not been expecting.

“Have you heard anything about Mariah? I mean, about what happened.”

I stilled. In truth, I had not given much thought to Mariah since I had heard the news. “No. Have you?”

“I haven’t, and that’s what’s weird. I asked Dr. Davis in my lesson the other day and she clammed up like I’ve never seen before.”

“How so?”

Hannah rubbed the material of her shirt between her fingers. “She wouldn’t say anything specific, which was the weird part. Normally when somebody drops out, there’s a reason, even if it’s just that it wasn’t the right fit for them, right?” She looked at me for confirmation.

I nodded.

“Dr. Davis wouldn’t tell me _anything_. I asked her if it was illness or something like that and she told me not to worry about it.” She sighed. “Ironically, now I’m worried about it.”

“Do you think something happened?” I thought of Mariah in her gala dress, tiny and birdlike, and felt ill at the prospect.

“I don’t know. It just… something feels off to me.” Hannah seemed lost in her thoughts again, troubled. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and let it loose around her shoulders, billowing golden and angelic.

Then she shook a little, as if coming out of a trance. “I’m probably just paranoid.” She offered me a thin smile. “Conolly gets to you that way, don’t you find?”

Nobody had ever said it before, and it was relieving to hear it from somebody else.

“I just talked to Gabriel.” I told her, all in a rush. “About what happened at the gala.”

Hannah looked perturbed, running her fingers over her lips. “Right. I had forgotten.” Then she laughed, sounding a little bleak. “Sorry, Leah. I didn’t consider how that would sound. I just meant, with everything going on…”

“You mean the stuff that happened while we were all gone.”

She waved her arm, tossing the question aside. “What did Gabriel have to say about it?”

I wondered then whether I should tell her about Oliver. It would be nice to have a confidant who was relatively unbiased. Hannah had been there at the end of last year, when it had all gone south, and was vaguely aware of what had happened, but she hadn’t really known either of us well enough to take sides. I was about to tell her everything, when I remembered the crease in her brow, the worry evident in her features when I had first come across her in the hall and decided she had enough to worry about.

“He said that he didn’t know what he was thinking.”

Hannah sighed. “Of course he did.”

“He said he was drunk and that I was right there.”

“Oh, _well_.” Hannah scoffed. “That excuses everything, doesn’t it? Does Audra know?”

I paused, unsure whether her derision was directed more at more or at him. “No. I don’t plan on telling her.”

I stood, planning to keep walking, but she gripped my arm. “Tell me if he says anything more.”

“Why?” I asked. “Are you worried?”

Hannah paused, cast her eyes down the hallway, then looked back at me. “Not about him.”

-

The next several weeks groaned by with a mechanical energy, every day the same. Get up, go to class, practice, go to a voice lesson, practice, go to class, go to staging rehearsal, rehearse in small sectionals, practice until I couldn’t anymore, sleep. Not only did we have the final performance to worry about, juries were looming, ever formidable.

Juries were the final exams we each took individually as singers, like an audition, but instead of a part, we received a grade. Though they carried less weight than previous years – jury scores, in the past, had been the final determining factor on whether or not we would be able to stay at Conolly – we each felt some private goal to prove that the faculty had made the right decision in keeping us on as students.

The only person I had ever met that looked forward to juries was Audra, and this year even she seemed on edge. If I thought I practiced a lot, my efforts were minimal compared to hers. Often I would hear the door to their bedroom opening and closing well past midnight, and then her alarm would go off every morning at six, and by the time anybody else arrived in the dimly lit corridor of the practice room loop, she would have been at it for an hour already.

I heard her and Colin, strangely enough, whispering in his practice room one evening, the door open a crack.

“You’re going to break if you keep at it like this.” He was saying.

“I have to practice. They’ll give it to her if I don’t.” Audra’s voice was small and reedy, the tension evident.

“You don’t know that.”

“ _You_ know that.”

“Who are you trying to impress – him, or the faculty?”

Their voices dropped even lower, and I could no longer hear.

I watched Audra carefully for the next several days, looking for hints that perhaps she did know about Gabriel and I after all, but she just seemed like she usually did during exam season – strung out, exhausted, a little proud.

On the Sunday just a week after we had returned from school, I was surprised by Oliver joining me at a long table in the library. It had been strange between us – not as tense nor as strained as before – and we hadn’t had a chance to talk at all in the past week. I had thought that he was avoiding me, and in truth I had been avoiding him, not interested in letting my feelings swallow me whole when I had so much work to focus on.

For a brief moment I had thought that he was going to confront me head on, ready to talk at last about the kiss and the phone calls, but he was preoccupied with something else.

He slid into the chair next to mine, his bag knocking into my knee. “Sorry.” He shifted the bag. He looked possessed by an energy that I had not seen in him for a long time. “Leah, do you know if something happened with Hannah and Cecily during reading week?”

The question caught me so off guard that I could feel my brain straining under the effort of switching gears. I blinked. “I, uh. Yes, I think so. Why?”

He glanced behind him, then back at me. “I just heard them over in the history section. They were arguing about something, and – I don’t know – I’ve never seen Cecily so upset.”

“She’s been an absolute nightmare to live with since I’ve been back, I’ll tell you that much.”

This was true. Cecily had taken to sleeping at even stranger hours than Audra, sometimes not coming back to the room until two or three in the morning, though she no longer made any effort to be quiet.

“I caught her smoking in the tower.” Oliver said. “I didn’t know she was a smoker.”

I had known this about Cecily, but I’d thought she’d sworn it off halfway through our first year, and I was surprised to hear that she’d taken it up again. “That’s strange. Why were you in the tower? Have _you_ started smoking?”

He laughed, and the sound was so delighted I had to look away. “No. Colin and Gabriel were fighting. I wanted someplace quiet to think.”

“Colin and Gabriel are fighting?” My heart sank. It felt like the very fibers of our group were unraveling.

“Like cats and dogs this week. I don’t know what it’s about. Colin gets touchy whenever Gabriel talks about Audra, which is weirdly a lot recently.”

I sighed. “Is anyone _not_ fighting?”

He looked at me. “We could be not fighting, if you want.”

I braced myself for the full impact of what he was about to say, but his words were far less forceful than I had been expecting.

“I’ve just been thinking, about what you said, and about what happened.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and I could tell he was remembering the kiss too. “I think we aren’t doing each other any favours by acting all stiff around each other.” He tapped his pen on the table, a rhythm that I recognized as a song from our music history class. “We were friends first, right?”

“We were.” I said softly. I had thought about that time often, when we would joke around and tell each other the things we weren’t likely to say to the others.

“With everything else going on…” He turned to face me. “Let’s not be terrible to each other, alright?”

I smiled, a little sadly. If only it were that easy. “All right.”

-

Staging classes were hell on earth. I wished fervently that we had begun before reading week, as now that the production was drawing ever nearer, tensions were high, and Dr. Ritter seemed more irritated than usual.

Midway through the week, with just two weeks left to go, he stopped the production in its tracks.

Gabriel and Colin were on stage. In the current scene, their characters had just met and were supposed to have hit it off immediately, but there was a tense agitated air about them both. At first, I had thought I was reading into it because of what Oliver had told me, but Dr. Ritter had banged his fist on his music stand, creating a gong that echoed through the room, effectively stopping the scene in its tracks.

“Aren’t you two friends?” Dr. Ritter heaved himself to his feet. “You’re acting like a bunch of mangy cats waiting for a fight. If I was in the audience and you performed like that, I would get up and leave.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. Colin was standing stock straight, his arms crossed, feet planted, looking defiant.

“Whatever is going on between you two, _knock it off_.” Dr. Ritter sat back down and motioned for them to continue.

In the farthest corner, Cecily, Roseanne and I were quietly working through the scene we had just run on stage. Dr. Ritter had been unimpressed and told us that we sounded like we had never heard a word of German in our lives. To be fair, none of us spoke German, but I had thought Cecily and I had done a fine job of imitation.

Roseanne, as hard as she was working, was struggling with the text. She was a decent singer, nothing like Mariah had been, but good enough that she had been selected from the group of eager second year students to replace her. Her voice was a bit reedy, but she matched pitch well and the three of us blended just fine.

Her speaking roles were another story. She stuttered through the text, forgot her lines constantly, and couldn’t pronounce any word that contained an umlaut.

I could tell Cecily was growing more and more frustrated with her by the minute, as we went over and over the diction.

“For God’s sake.” She muttered irritably. “We’re in the _opening scene,_ Roseanne. You’re going to have to sell it a lot better than that.”

“Cecily.” I admonished, but she ignored me.

“I’m trying!” Roseanne sounded frantic.

“Try harder.” Cecily snarled.

At this, tears brimmed in Roseanne’s eyes, and she snatched her binder out of Cecily’s hands. “I’m going to ask Hannah for help.”

Cecily looked incensed, her eyes bright with barely contained fury. “ _Hannah_?”

Dr. Ritter cast a warning glance in our direction, and I put a hand on Cecily’s arm.

“She knows how to teach diction.” Roseanne’s cheeks were bright pink. “And at least _she’s_ nice about it.”

Roseanne marched away across the room to where Hannah was sitting with a group of second years.

“Fine.” Cecily whispered through gritted teeth. “Go off to perfect Hannah then.”

Roseanne was too far away to hear.

-

The unraveling of our group started that month, but it took much longer than that for the reality of our situation to come crashing down around our heads. Conflict was a tapestry of multiple threads, of which only a few were visible, and it had only taken a light tug to tear the whole thing apart.

I found myself on edge nearly constantly, waiting for _something_ , though I wasn’t sure what. I’d started biting my nails again, which I hadn’t done since middle school. I had thought that our group was pliable. _Surely_ no matter what happened, we would be able to bounce back from it.

It seemed though, that some rifts were too deep to mend.

Cecily wouldn’t stay in the same room as Hannah. At first, she had been subtle about it, finding excuses like practicing, homework, or false appointments, but recently she had taken to simply up and leaving whenever Hannah entered the room. Hannah, I noted, pretended not to notice this, but I had watched her, and her eyes seemed to follow Cecily around the room during rehearsals.

Colin and Gabriel were not nearly as insufferable. It appeared that they had made up to some degree, but they were now being excessively polite to one another, speaking in overly formal, stiff sentences. Whenever we spoke, Colin seemed preoccupied, as though he had a completely different narrative going on in his head and I was just a distraction. As he tended to do during stressful season, he stopped sleeping, working through the night and dozing during afternoon breaks.

As the relational bridges began to collapse around us, an unlikely trio formed. Hannah, Oliver and I, bound by nothing else except the fact that we had the least conflict with one another, found ourselves shoved together. Perhaps it was fate that joined us. I often think it was a form of cruelty. If there is a god, she must have laughed on us then.

But how could I have known we only had a few short weeks left?

We didn’t talk much, instead preferring to work on our respective essays or quiz each other on tests for our mutual classes. There was, instead of conversation, a mutual understanding that we were calm waters.

It took some adjusting, for Oliver and I. The first joke was a breath of fresh air, the laughter that followed a release of a tension that had stalked us for months. I don’t remember what the joke was. That doesn’t matter. What mattered was that we were friends, and that alone was a salve for my bruised, yearning heart.

Hannah seemed withdrawn. I did not notice this at first, chalking up her melancholy to her altercations with Cecily, but the shadow seemed to follow her even when in the moments that passed between Cecily’s outbursts of hostility.

This was fortunate for Audra, who, as hard-working as she was, seemed to be constantly worried that Hannah was working harder. Their clashes during the earliest part of the semester had seemed like a daydream now that finals were running towards us full tilt, that is, until the last masterclass of the semester, the day before juries.

Even if I had not known that Hannah was undergoing some kind of interpersonal crisis, on that day I would have known not to cross her. She was a brewing storm cloud of fury, hinted at in the set of her jaw and the grey of her cheek.

Despite this, she sang like she’d been sent straight from heaven. She always did this, somehow. Her song was called “Ain’t it a pretty night?” and we basked in it. I thought, then, that I could listen to that voice forever.

In contrast, when Audra took the stage, her body was a taut elastic band. She wore the stress of the semester like a cloak, and it was clear before she had even begun to sing that it was going to be a disaster.

At first, it wasn’t. She prepared well, her stance and breath preparation were solid, but something in her chin trembled, and when she opened her mouth, I understood why.

Somehow, she had chosen to sing the same song as Hannah. I heard, for the first time, the distinction between their voices. Where Hannah was fluid, Audra was practiced. Hannah’s high notes were soaring, in comparison Audra’s were mechanical.

If I had not heard Hannah sing it only moments before, I might have enjoyed Audra’s rendition. It was a bit like picking up a book you’ve read before, I thought, only to discover you don’t enjoy it nearly as much as you thought you had.

Audra knew it. I could see the despair in her eyes long before the sound of her last note had faded.

I feel I should explain. It feels cruel, looking back, to idolize Hannah in this way. Audra was by no means a bad singer. She was leaps and bounds above what I could have dreamed of – her high notes were higher than mine, her long phrases longer. She had the work ethic and drive to accompany her skill, too. Before Hannah, Audra had been praised as one of the finest sopranos the school had taught.

It was just that Hannah was magic.

Dr. Davis made a half-hearted attempt to encourage Audra, but it was clear that we had all heard it, and she knew it. On the stage, under the single spotlight, Audra looked halfway to death, small, pale, blue eyes turned grey in the luminance, desolate.

I think the thing that worried me most was the lack of anger. Then, at least, all Audra contained was a bleak kind of resignation. The anger came later that night.

It seemed that the entire semester was defined by eavesdropping. I suppose that’s the way altercations got dramatized, the whole reason everything went to shit.

I’d gotten out of bed for a glass of water and heard the voices immediately after I’d opened the door into the hallway.

At first, I assumed it was Hannah and Cecily. Cecily’s bed was barren. I quickly realized, however, that wherever Cecily was, it was not with Hannah, because the second voice belonged to Audra, the voices coming from their shared room.

She was sobbing, furious, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.

I stood in the hallway in my pajamas and socks, empty glass in hand, unmoving.

“And you can’t tell me who just for no reason?” Audra

“I’m just saying, identity isn’t important. I just thought you should know that it had happened. It felt wrong not to say.”

“I can think of a few reasons _why_.”

There was the sound of footsteps – I skittered away from the door like a frightened deer – and then the springs of the bed groaned. One of them had sat down.

“It wasn’t me, if _that’s_ what you’re thinking.” Hannah’s voice was calm.

“Like hell it wasn’t.” Audra scoffed. “You’re such a fake. You already have everything!” She was verging on hysterical. “Everything, and I mean _anything_ is right there, you could have. You’re already going to get the lead next semester – oh, don’t make that face, you know I’m right – and everybody on staff clearly _adores_ you.” Every word was inflected with malice.

“Audra-”

“But Gabriel.” Audra gasped, a shuddering inhale, like the thought was too painful for her to consider. “Gabriel is my _one good thing_. Are you hearing me?”

“Audra, I’m telling you, it wasn’t me!”

“Don’t you dare. No, stop it.” There was a muffled thump and Hannah gasped.

“Did you just _throw –”_

“You’re a bitch, Hannah.” Audra was sobbing, now. “A _bitch_.”

 _Tell her it was me,_ I silently pleaded. _Don’t take the blame for this._

Whichever one of them had been sitting stood up.

“Stay away from him.”

The footsteps neared the door.

I backed quickly into my room, pulling the door so it was nearly closed, my heart pounding.

I heard the other door open. Audra’s sobs were audible now.

Hannah stalked down the hall, still fully dressed.

“Stay _away_.” Audra’s voice had lost its anger, now I heard only grief. “Please.”


	13. 12.

The morning of our juries dawned pale and freezing. I knew at once by the fragile air that it was going to be the coldest day of the semester so far.

I had to shake the chill out of my body as I got dressed, shivering on my way through the dark corridors to the practice rooms, my footsteps echoing. I wasn’t the only one there earlier than usual; despite the soundproof insulation, I could already hear the clamour of several different simultaneous songs.

My favourite practice room was taken, light spilling out from underneath the locked door. Peering through the small rectangular window, I saw a familiar shock of yellow-blonde frizzy hair. Roseanne.

I tried not to take the obstruction as an omen. I was always nervous when it came to juries, but today I felt a flurry of anxiety with every step I took.

I circled the hallway, found an unlocked door. My palm was damp on the cool metal. _Breathe_ , Leah.

Shame curdled low in my gut, my thoughts about the night before whirling untethered. I hated that I hadn’t gone in and told Audra that it had been me and not Hannah that had hurt her so badly.

I had gone to bed thoroughly ashamed, staring at the ceiling, furious with myself for being a coward.

That was the truth of it. I was afraid of what Audra would do if she knew for a fact that it had been me.

I turned the handle on the door, pushed it open, flicked the lights on. With a shaky exhale, I settled my scores on the music stand and stood there staring at them for several long minutes. Lines and notes blurred on the page until they became a grey smudge. The last time I had been standing like this, I had been about to take my last jury of second year. I had stood in the practice room, my vision tunneling, my private secret rolling around in my head over and over. _This is it. This is it. This is it._

I’d been _so_ certain I was not going to get in. I knew there were at maximum seven spots, and once Hannah had joined us, I had been sure that it was my last year.

It wasn’t, I reminded myself. The jury went fine. This one would too.

The thought did not help.

Though I was consciously aware that there wasn’t nearly as much riding on this exam as the past juries, the frantic energy did not leave me, buzzing static electricity under my skin.

Mechanically, I opened my binder of warm-up vocalises and selected one at random. _Brain off_ , I told myself. _Muscle memory on._ I had a rehearsal with my accompanist in ten minutes.

-

I stood in front of the metal grey door, staring at my name where it always was, last on the list, waiting for Colin to come out. It always went like this. The terrible anxiety leading up, the self-doubt, the worry. Then the morning came and went like a blurry memory, and it was time.

Colin walked out, all purpose, expression betraying nothing.

I knew I had just about ten minutes until they called me in. The board would be talking about Colin right now. Last semester, they would have been deliberating about whether or not he was a candidate to stay at Conolly. This semester, I wasn’t sure what exactly they were deliberating. Maybe that was what made me nervous.

Colin lingered in the hallway, eyeing me, perhaps a bit nervously.

I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Do you still want…?” He cocked an eyebrow.

I could have cried. Every jury I’d had since the second semester of our first year, Colin stayed behind after he had finished his, serving as a distraction. I’d thought that since we hadn’t really been talking, I was going to have to face the waiting alone.

“How did yours go?”

He shrugged, a noncommittal motion. “It went alright.”

That was his way of saying that he was very pleased.

I looked down at my fingers. “That’s good.”

“Are you nervous?”

I rolled my eyes and offered a pained smile. “I’m _always_ worried.”

There was a long silence. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Colin reach into his jacket and pat the inside pocket.

He let out a long exhale. “I’m sorry.”

I turned my head sharply. “Because I’m nervous?”

“No.” Colin had his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Because… You’re right. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s not fair of me to expect you to divulge all of your secrets without telling you any of mine.” He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I think I’m in love with somebody.”

I straightened up. “You _what_?”

Colin. Pragmatic, sarcastic, skeptic.

In love?

He was such a careful person that I knew the word choice was deliberate. If he said it, it had been well thought out.

He stared resolutely at me.

“You, the unbeliever in love?” Then I stopped to consider. “Who?”

He shot me an annoyed look. “I _think_ I’m in love. I don’t know what that means.” He looked a little bit lost. “I thought it was supposed to feel… different.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Who?”

Colin hesitated, then shook his head haltingly. “I don’t think I should say.”

“Oh, _come on.”_ I tried to think of who I had seen him hanging around with, drawing a variety of faces, but none that rung true. “At least tell me what faculty.”

“Arts.”

“Smartass. We’re all in the arts. A musician?”

Slowly, he nodded. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he decided how much to tell me.

I held a breath in for half of a suspended second, then let it out silently. “A guy, right?”

Colin met my eyes, and then very slowly, he nodded.

“Instrument?”

“Guitar.”

That was a lie. I could tell because he looked at me right in the eyes. That was Colin’s tell, if you knew him well enough. When he lied, he did it right to your face. I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anything more.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.

“Because you tell me everything.” He smiled a little ruefully. “At least used to.”

I wasn’t sure whether I felt more like laughing or crying. “Are we cool again?”

He grinned. “If you’re cool with being cool.”

The door opened while I was nodding.

“Leah?” Dr. Davis had a pen tucked behind her ear. “We’re ready for you.”

-

When the jury was over, I felt like I was walking on air. It hadn’t been too bad, I thought, as I walked down the hallway back toward the dormitories. I hadn’t forgotten anything, words or music, and it had come easily enough. I was just relieved it was over.

I wanted to find Colin, intending to find out more about what he had just told me. I felt some kind of maternal responsibility towards him, an odd, foreign sort of feeling. I’d never had to worry about Colin before, but I was now. I wasn’t sure I minded. So much of our friendship had been him looking out for me, it felt appropriate that it was my turn. Off all of the things he could have told me, this was the most surprising.

I stopped short at the sight of Hannah’s bedroom door, cracked open. The memories of the night before flood back.

Hannah sat on the bed, staring into space, her brow furrowed, expression exactly the same one she had worn when I had found her sitting at the window just a few weeks ago. I wondered a little vaguely if this was how she existed when no one else was around, chin cupped in palm, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She looked up when I pushed on the door. In a half of a second, she had rearranged her facial features into a smile. “Done your jury?”

“Thank God.” I stood a little awkwardly in the doorway. “Yes.”

“How was it?”

I shrugged. She grinned and beckoned me into the room.

I hadn’t actually been inside Audra and Hannah’s room this semester. It seemed sterile, somehow, as though the two of them were competing to see who could be neater. Hannah’s bed was made as sharply and cleanly as though she were living in a hospital room, as though it was merely a placeholder, the representation of a bed.

I took several faltering steps before I spoke. “I heard you. Last night.”

Her smile faded. “Oh.”

“I didn’t hear what you told her, though.”

She patted the spot on the immaculate bed next to her. “Just the truth. That Gabriel slept with someone else and didn’t tell her.”

“And now she thinks it was you.”

Hannah let a slow stream of air hiss out between her teeth, the sound like a punctured balloon. “Yes.”

“Why did you let her think that? Why didn’t you tell her it was me?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into it. She’s already furious with me.” Hannah drew her hands close to her chest. “She’ll get over it though. She always does.”

Somehow, I doubted it. “She seemed really upset.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

I thought first that no, I would not be upset. “It was just...” Then I thought of Oliver, and the idea was heart wrenching.

Hannah was regarding me with what almost seemed like suspicion.

I drew back, frowning. “Yes. I’d be upset.”

Hannah sighed, then patted the bed.

I sat. Eager to change the subject, I blurted out, “Colin told me. What he told you.”

I wasn’t quite sure why I was saying this. I guess that was just the thing about Hannah. I told her things because she was easy to trust. I wondered what it said about me, that I had been entrusted with a secret and the first thing I did with it was take it to somebody else.

Hannah’s eyes flashed, her expression first surprise, then, unexpectedly, fear. “What?” Her voice was hushed, almost a whisper.

I backtracked, shocked at her sudden response. “His secret. About being in love.”

Some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to dissolve. She was watching me carefully, wary. “He told you… everything?”

I wondered how to respond. Was there a correct way? “Just that he thought he was, and that it was somebody here at Conolly.”

“Oh.” Hannah seemed relieved.

I found myself feeling as though I was missing something, a sensation I had come to be irritatingly familiar with. “Did he tell you something else?”

“No.” Hannah shook her head, her eyes cast down to her hands in her lap. “That was it.”

I knew it wasn’t the truth. “Did he tell you who?”

Hannah looked up. “I think that’s his secret to tell, don’t you?”

There was an accusatory sharpness to her tone, and right then I realized that I had disappointed her. Perhaps because I had come right out with Colin’s secret, proving myself a poor steward. Or maybe the reason hid in the undercurrent of things I did not know.

I realized I was flushing. I raised a hand to my cheek, finding the skin there warm, embarrassed by my own ineptitude, feeling ashamed of my own failure, though of what nature it was, I couldn’t quite deign to understand.

“I just thought that you might have some insights.” I made a weak attempt to redeem myself. “I’ve been friends with Colin forever, and he’s never been prone to –” I was scrambling for the right words now “– words like love. Or even affection. Not once, in the three years I’ve known him anyway, has he even expressed interest. I mean, he has a difficult time expressing interest in friendship!”

Hannah sighed.

I was digging myself deeper into the hole. “I don’t mean to make him sound like a bad person. He’s not. He’s just… private. I’m sure you know that.”

“I do.”

I had the sense that the conversation had ended, and feeling a little awkward, I stood. “I just… I worry about him.”

Hannah was wearing the same concerned, resigned expression she’d had when I first entered the room. “Me too, Leah.” She bit her lip, rolled it between her teeth, then blew out a long exhale. “Me too.”

-

I hadn’t realized that Hannah and Colin had any sort of real friendship beyond their drunken confessions until later that week, when I was on my way out of the library late one Thursday night. I was stacking my papers when I realized that I was hearing the two of them arguing.

I only heard the barest fragment of a sentence – Colin’s voice, whispering “I’m _out_ , Hannah, I don’t want anything to do with this” – before I heard his footsteps coming my way and I had to scurry down the hallway so he wouldn’t catch me eavesdropping.

How the days passed, I’m not quite sure. We submitted final papers. We studied for exams. I didn’t ask Colin more questions about what he had told me, maybe because I didn’t trust myself with further information, more likely because if there was going to be something going on that I didn’t know about, I’d prefer it to be my choice to not know.

He was waiting for me to ask, I could tell. He thought I would. I wasn’t sure whether he wanted me to.

More disconcerting than any of this was watching Gabriel and Audra unravel. I didn’t know whether they had talked about the kiss, whether he’d told her the truth, but I had to assume that she hadn’t mentioned it, as he was wandering the halls looking a little lost, studying on his own late into the night. Audra was treating him with an icy coolness, a frigidity that radiated and made her unapproachable.

We were ships in the night, all of us. It felt as though we were holding our breath, waiting for catastrophe of some kind. Of course we had no way of knowing what was coming, no way to predict what would take place in less than a week, but we felt it anyway.

The secrets were suffocating. I found myself constantly trying to untangle the sticky web of who was telling who their secrets, what was causing the fighting, why we were no longer honest with each other.

It was the production. I was sure of it. As it loomed ever closer, it was as though somebody was turning the static electricity up, all seven of us antsy and cross with each other whenever we were reminded of the upcoming deadline.

Roseanne was finally up to speed with her lines, and as it turned out, once she knew her material, she was a stunning actress. Our trio had nothing to worry about, we were assured by Dr. Ritter. Over the last several weeks we had been rehearsing in groups, to perfect and polish, and now we were preparing together again in the week before we were to open.

“You only have one shot.” Dr. Ritter warned us in a rehearsal of the first scene. Colin and Gabriel were on stage, finally having nailed the scene where they are introduced. Cecily, Roseanne and I were waiting in the wings for our entrance while Dr. Ritter went through his notes. “Do it like that and you’ll have something half decent.”

This was as congratulatory as he ever got, and I could see the relief in their eyes.

The stress wore on all of us.

“Now we know why so many performing artists kill themselves.” Cecily growled, as we listened to Audra berating Oliver for forgetting a line. “They’ve got someone like her to deal with. It’d push anyone over the edge.”

It was the closest she had come to cracking a joke in weeks.

Then, somehow, we were in the midst of finals.

I spent hours of my day in the library, choking the life out of my textbooks, reminding myself that it would all be over soon.

Colin joined me sometimes, and Hannah too, occasionally, but most often my studying companion was Oliver. The night before our music history exam, we sat side by side at one of the long wooden tables in the library. I realized with a start that it was the same table we had sat at when we worked on our summary project for the Magic Flute all of those months before.

I caught Oliver watching me, his expression set in an amused smile.

“What?” I pretended to be annoyed, even though catching him looking had made my heart jump.

“Nothing.” He tilted his head. “You’re wearing your ‘considering’ face.”

“I didn’t know I had one.”

He grinned. “You do. Like you’re trying to puzzle something out.”

“I’m trying to puzzle out why you’re the only one of us who isn’t miserable.” I returned my attention to my paper.

He looked at me for a long while.

I could see him out of the corner of my eye. I looked up.

Then, he looked down and spoke carefully. “I’m the only one with no secrets. All of mine are known.”

He looked up.

I was done for. I knew it then. It had been rushing toward me for weeks, even before reading week. Maybe he knew it, too. The fact of _us_ was suspended in the air by the way we looked at each other.

I found the idea disconcerting. I had spent the last six months of my life trying to convince myself that I had made the right decision, and it was undone in a single exchange, a single lingering look. I hadn’t even been convinced by the kiss, though it stayed with me. My mind wandered to it often, a daydream that blended into my dreams at night.

That look erased everything. _Everything_.

But what could I do about it now? I had made my choice, with actions first, then words. I’d made that choice and forced it on him. We had a music history exam to write.

Nothing had changed in my mind, I resolved. Only in my heart. And though I couldn’t argue with my own heart, I could wrestle it down for the time being. Get through this final. Get through the next and the last and the final performance and then go home for Christmas.

The thought was jarring. Of course I had been planning to go home for Christmas. I always went home for the holidays. There was always the option to stay, the campus stayed open September through til May, but I had never considered it. It was routine. Go home for reading week, and for the holidays. Conolly was for the school year.

If I did choose to go home, what would be there for me? An empty tomb of a home with a set of parents who believed I was setting myself up for failure?

I filed this dilemma away as a problem for later.

There was a list of names and dates of dead composers in front of me. There was a boy I was in love with inches away. I could touch his knee if I moved mine subtly enough. The words on the page swam. The knee stayed put.

-

I heard Gabriel and Audra fighting the night before the dress rehearsal. More correctly, everyone in the dorm heard, because it began with a scream so high and piercing that it brought us all out into the hallway.

Gabriel had his hands raised high above his head, his back against the wall. They were in the doorway to Audra’s room, and she was bright red in the face.

At first it looked as though they were in the midst of a screaming match. It would not be their first – we’d all heard them before – but their arguments tended to at least go both ways, and after a moment, it became clear that Gabriel was not equal to Audra’s rage.

The only expression on his face was worry: pure and fragile.

Audra looked at him – her face had gone suddenly very white – and she sank to her knees slowly, her breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. She was not crying. It would have been less terrible if she was. Her eyes were vacant shells, not looking at him, or at anyone, but at something suspended in her own mind.

Gabriel reached toward her and she put her fist up, barring him. “Don’t touch me.” She whispered. “Don’t touch me!”

“I’m not!” He sounded helpless, like a wounded animal. He glanced up at Colin, who was standing with Oliver in the doorway to the room. Both were in pajamas – loose t-shirts and sweatpants – and Oliver’s crumpled hair suggested that he had already been asleep.

Colin offered a sympathetic half shrug. This was not behaviour we had seen from Aura before.

“I said don’t TOUCH me!” Her voice wavered on the edge of the shrill scream we had heard before. She had sunk to her knees now, was shriveling like a small child, her head tucked towards her chest, gripping the floor with fingers splayed wide, white at the knuckles.

Gabriel shook his head, slowly getting down onto his knees in front of her. “I’m not touching you.” He spoke quietly. “I’m not.”

Her shoulders began to shake.

There were footsteps in the hallway. Hannah was walking down the corridor. She opened her mouth to ask the question we knew she was going to ask, but I put a finger to my lips, and she faltered. Her eyes found Audra, a puddle of a girl, and something softened in her eyes.

“Audra.” Gabriel was pleading. “Audra.”

He reached a tentative hand to her.

She was crying in earnest now, the sound coming from her was awful, halfway between a sob and a wail.

Gabriel placed his hand very gently on her shoulder. “Audra.”

She did not shake him off.

“Please.” I could barely hear him. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be alright.”

He shuffled a little bit closer.

I looked up, saw Colin’s jaw working. He looked worried, yes, but there was something else going on behind his eyes as he watched the two of them. Fear? Disgust?

Audra was no longer a girl. She had become something feral, a wild animal wearing Audra’s face. Hair escaped her loose braid in tendrils, trailing down to the floor, hiding any semblance of human expression.

Gabriel tentatively, slowly, pulled her towards him. At first, she resisted him, but then she gave in, and he rocked her back and forth while she sobbed, a human straitjacket, stroking her hair until her shaky breathing became more stable.

He caught Oliver’s eye, and nodded. It was time for us to leave. Audra would be fine.

If only fine was enough.

None of us seemed to feel like going to bed.

The four of us made the miserable walk to the dining centre in silence. Only once we were inside and the flickering lights were on did anyone speak.

“I told her.” Colin was saying. His voice sounded choked.

Hannah made a beeline for the hot water dispenser, pouring herself a mug for tea.

“I told her that if she kept going like she was, it’d go wrong.”

“Was that what it was about?” Oliver sat down right on the table. “I didn’t hear how it started. Did any of you?”

I had my suspicions about it, but I was not about to admit in front of both of the boys that their argument was likely my fault. “No.”

“It looked almost like she was having some kind of breakdown.” Hannah remarked, dunking her tea bag into the mug in a robotic, continuous motion. Her eyes were cast onto the floor.

“Almost?” Colin was incredulous. “If that wasn’t a breakdown, I don’t know what was.”

I had a sudden, disarming thought. Could it be that Hannah had told her about Gabriel’s infidelity so close to the performance as an act of sabotage? I would have never considered her to be that sort of person, but if this semester had proved anything, it was that I didn’t know who she was at all.

I watched her let the tea steep for far too long.

“Do you think she’ll be able to do it?” I sat down across from Oliver. “The performance, I mean?”

“She’d better be able to.” Hannah said darkly. “We don’t have a replacement to play Pamina.”

“You could do it.” I watched her carefully, examining her expression. “If she couldn’t.”

The crease between her eyebrows deepened as she shook her head, looking up at me. “I can’t. The performance is in five days, Leah.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Who would sing the Queen?”

Maybe not sabotage.

“Do you think –” Colin stopped himself, glanced at me, frowning, then changed his approach. “Did something happen? You know, with the two of them?”

I had the sneaking suspicion that he knew about Gabriel and I, somehow. I glanced at Hannah, who was looking at Colin a bit quizzically. “Depends what you mean by ‘something’.”

He shook his head, placing his head in his hands, then ran his hand through his hair, after which it stuck out in all directions. “I don’t know. It’s just…” His voice trailed off.

“Everything is awful.” Oliver finished for him. “We’ve all been feeling it.”

Nobody had anything to say to that.

“Isn’t it, though?” He pressed. “It’s like something is rotting.”

He was right.


	14. 13.

The thing about Conolly dress rehearsals was that they always went wrong. Generally speaking, this was because of false starts, missed cues, or a faulty costume. These errors could be expected. It was actually quite suspicious for a dress rehearsal to go smoothly, in fact, it was almost considered a curse, so when something _did_ go wrong and we had no audience to impress, the mishap was often acknowledged with a cheer.

Today there was no cheering.

How were we supposed to react while in front of us our two romantic leads were disintegrating? It was a slow excising of hearts, terrible to see, worse to look away from. The final performance was tomorrow and today they were shattered.

Audra, seemingly ruined by the events of the previous night, contained none of her usual bravado. The costume that had been altered for her just a few short weeks before was loose on her frame, and she flitted through scenes as though she were merely remembering them rather than actively living them out.

We were supposed to run the show twice through, but the first rehearsal was dragging on and on, weighed down by our reluctant protagonist.

Dr. Ritter was beside himself, red in the face, spluttering his indignance. “What in _God’s_ name?”

Gabriel rushed to play the part of her fierce defender when Audra appeared unable to do it herself. “She’s just worn out.” He explained hastily to the doubting professor. “She’ll pull it together for the performance.”

“She’ll pull it together now!” His eyebrows knitted together into a scowl as he whirled on Audra. “Young lady. This is your moment to shine! The reputation of this school depends on you.”

For a second, I thought she was going to cry.

Gabriel stepped forward, but Audra blocked him with her hand. “Don’t.”

It was the first word she had said all day that held any conviction.

Gabriel looked to her, then out into the audience.

The lights in the hall had been dimmed, the lighting on the stage near exactly what they would be when we performed the next day.

The spotlight cut Audra’s face into sharp angular halves, her head tilted down ever so slightly.

It was more than just the stress. It _had_ to be more than just knowing the truth about what Gabriel had done. There was something like desolation in her expression, and when Gabriel took a step towards her, she stepped back.

“You cannot continue to behave like you despise your Tamino!” Dr. Ritter had thrown his hands up into the air. “This is a _love_ story. Christ Almighty.”

Audra looked toward Gabriel, her chin jutting in defiance, and I _saw_ it. Something about Gabriel infuriated her – _disgusted_ her – beyond explanation.

“Audra Daly!” Dr. Ritter was practically bellowing. “Are you an actress or not?”

That did it, his words the spark to a flame, a switch flipped. After that, something within her had reawakened.

Because I was watching for it, because I had understood something, however briefly, I could see that it was a farce, but to the outsider, she was no longer Audra Daly. She was Pamina, a girl struck by love. She mooned over Gabriel in such a convincing way that I could see even _he_ was second guessing her affections.

Backstage, Cecily watched them with her eyes narrowed. I’d filled her in about the night before, and now she was scrutinizing the pair carefully, though specifically what she was looking for, I wasn’t sure.

The opera progressed in fits and starts, Dr. Ritter stopping us every so often to make comments. He seemed pleased by the change he had inspired in Audra though, and our second run through went quite a lot faster than the first had.

Oliver on stage was a man on fire. I often forgot that he had a background in dance, but it was a fact that could not be forgotten that night. He owned every inch of the stage, formidable as the villain. I knew that it was how they always cast him, but I had to admit that it made sense. He had the voice, had the stature, and though I knew I was biased, he was a better actor than Gabriel. Only Oliver could sing a murder into being and make you believe it.

Watching him made something in my chest seize. Cecily saw me looking and snorted. When I frowned at her, she rolled her eyes.

“Come on.” The derision dripped from her voice. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Roseanne, wedged to the side, looked between the two of us, obviously intrigued.

“I made my choice.” I said firmly, no longer caring who knew. Though I had told myself I wouldn’t look again, my eyes followed him as he advanced on Pamina on the stage.

“Yeah, well it was a dumb one.” Cecily said this as though it were obvious.

“It was smart.” I swallowed. “It was the right thing to do.”

Cecily scoffed. “The _right_ thing to do would have been to tell him.”

I glared at her, appalled that she would bring this up in front of Roseanne, but she looked back at me without faltering, a strange intensity and defiance in her gaze.

Oliver strode off stage toward us. In the cramped wing, he brushed against my arm on his way out.

“God, look at you.” Cecily whispered once he was out of earshot. “It’s pathetic, you know that? That’s what you’re being.”

“I’m not.” I felt a hard lump in my throat.

“You are.”

Roseanne elbowed me in the ribs. “It’s time.”

Hannah was next to us. I had a moment of panic before I remembered our place, then the music was starting, and we were on stage.

Hannah spoke clearly, her German clear and precise.

The last scene flew by. I felt a little dazed when I realized that the whole cast and crew had come out on the stage to hear Dr. Ritter’s closing remarks.

The lights in the house went on, causing a murmur of objection from those of us unaccustomed to the brightness.

“Tomorrow is the day.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “You’ve been preparing for months, and at long last you’ll get the chance to show us what you’re made of.” He paused. “This year we have some fine musicians, and some fine actors. You have the capacity to make this a _great_ show.” He clenched his fist. “Do us proud. See you tomorrow, six pm call. Don’t be late.”

With this, he turned, leaving us standing on stage.

Oliver was behind me, and when I turned to leave, I grazed his shoulder.

He beamed down at me. “Quite the turnaround, eh?”

“You mean with –” I cast around for either Audra or Gabriel, but couldn’t spot them in the crowd.

“I just meant how it’s all coming together.” Oliver said, then stopped talking, just looking at me.

I looked back.

“The opera.” He said, in a way that suggested he was thinking about something else entirely.

I was thinking about the kiss. I hoped, a little vaguely, that he was too.

I suddenly very much wanted to be alone. I looked down at the ground. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

Bumped from behind, he stumbled a little. Instinctively, I reached up to steady him. My fingertips grazed his arm.

He grinned. His mouth was very close to my ear. “It’s going to be great.”

When Colin elbowed Oliver, grappling for his attention, I slipped away, off of the stage and into the wings, relief coursing through me. The darkness was soothing, the velvet curtain muffled much of the excited chatter. I stood there, soaking in the stillness, until the buzzing in my head died down and my heart slowed.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let myself get close to him again. Surely I had more decency than this. 

It took me several minutes of internal war to realize that voices were coming from the other side of the curtain.

Whoever they were, they must have been whispering at first, because once their words were distinguishable, it sounded like they were in the middle of a conversation.

“That’s what I’m saying!” One of the voices was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Whoever it was, they were crying, voice thick with tears. “I _don’t_ understand.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

The second voice was Hannah’s.

I stood stock still, afraid to move.

She continued, “You don’t have to understand. You just have to accept it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I know you’re not going to tell, if that’s what you’re threatening.” Hannah sounded exasperated. Then her tone softened. “Let it go, Cecily.”

My breath caught. The crying voice belonged to Cecily? She never cried.

“What if I can’t?”

“You’ll have to.” Hannah was firm. “At least until after the show. We’ll talk about it after, okay? After. I promise.”

There was a long sigh, but I couldn’t tell which one of them was the source.

“I’m going to go now.” Hannah said quietly. “Don’t follow me out right away.”

The curtain rustled, and I saw Hannah exit quickly, back on to the stage, where she stopped, shielding her eyes from the glare of the spotlight while she peered around the room. Apparently not finding what she was looking for, she swept off of the stage and out of sight.

I was afraid to move. If Cecily learned that I had overheard that conversation, I doubted she would be thrilled, considering how she had been acting recently.

There was sniffling on the other side of the curtain.

“Damnit.” Cecily muttered to herself. She let out a long string of curses. I heard her footsteps retreating as she exited the other way, to the green room instead of the stage.

I was alone in the dark.


	15. 14.

It was the last day. None of us knew it at the time, but it was. Hindsight is funny like that. I place immense importance on that span of twenty-four hours now that I know what really happened, but as I was living it, it was just a day.

I wish there had been some sort of event throughout the day that gave a clue that the tides were shifting under the fabric of our reality at Conolly, but there wasn’t. I feel shame now, about that day. It was the last day, and it was unremarkable.

I slept in. Finals were over, and I had nowhere to be until six o’clock. I never slept well during exam season, and that night had been no exception, but maybe that was what contributed to the ordinariness of the day.

Cecily had never come back to our room. I woke up annoyed, and spent the morning avoiding considering my plans for the after the show. My parents had left a message with the school registrar earlier in the week inquiring about my plans, since I hadn’t called, and though the idea of spending three weeks at Conolly waiting for everyone to come back felt like a dismal way to spend the holidays, I was beginning to think that going home would be worse.

I was supposed to meet with Cecily and Roseanne to go over the performance notes we’d received from Dr. Ritter the night before, but Cecily didn’t show up, and so Roseanne and I went over them together during the noon hour, feeling slightly awkward without our third member.

I ate lunch with Colin, Hannah, and Gabriel in the dining centre, though it was a somber affair. Gabriel was moody, irritable, and refused to answer any questions that veered into Audra territory.

Colin and Hannah seemed to be having a silent conversation with just their eyes. It was maddening to watch, and so I left as soon as I’d finished my meal.

I spent the afternoon walking the grounds. The air shimmered with expectancy – I thought that if we were lucky, we would get snow. I’d been thinking this for weeks, though. It was rare to see bare ground into December. Our world was painted in muted browns and greys, and I was sick of it. We’d had intermittent flakes fall from the sky, even an afternoon or two where through the classroom windows it had looked like it was beginning to pick up, but it always petered out. If it had ever stuck at all, the powdered ground had melted by the next morning, leaving us with brown muck that we tracked through the tunnels, much to the custodian’s dismay.

I had a feeling about it today, though. I crossed my fingers in my jacket pocket as I peered up toward the sky.

Footsteps crunching on the frozen grass behind me interrupted my reverie.

“I thought I might find you out here.” Oliver’s breath came in silver puffs.

I was standing in front of the lake – not far, I realized, from the spot where Gabriel had kissed me all those weeks ago. How long ago it felt. “Here I am.”

Oliver stood beside me so that we were shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the glassy surface.

“Were you looking for me?” I asked, stamping my feet to ward off the cold.

“In a way.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but instead I continued to look over the lake. “Do you think they’ll be able to pull it off?”

Oliver’s breathing was steady. “They’re actors, aren’t they?”

“I’m worried.” The words surprised me. I looked at him. The sun broke out from behind a cloud, illuminating his eyelashes.

He didn’t look back. “I think we all are.”

-

By five o’clock, all of the female cast members – except Audra, who had her own private room – were down in the cramped changerooms under the theatre.

I listened only halfway to the excited chatter from the first and second-year girls in the chorus. Those who had speaking and singing roles, I could see, were already forming hierarchies, nearly invisible but utterly clear.

I remember what it had been like at that stage of the game. Back then it had felt like anything was possible. Last year, when we’d been chorus members in Mozart’s _The Marriage of Figaro,_ I had briefly entertained the idea of starring in the next year’s production, provided that I made it through the rigorous cuts. I had known, even back then, that it would be Audra. Then, when Hannah had joined, I’d essentially given up my dreams of stardom at Conolly, shoved it far into the recesses of my mind. _Later_ , I’d told myself. _When I’m established as an adult professional, then I’ll be a star._

Cecily was late. To my surprise, when she showed up, she greeted Roseanne and I with a swift smile and set to work right away painting her eyelids black, humming quietly. I stared at her, nonplussed. A month of secrecy, fuming, tears, and now _humming_?

I wasn’t the only one watching her. From the moment Cecily had burst through the door, Hannah’s eyes had followed her, wary trepidation painting her face.

It was dizzying, standing in the room, uncomfortably warm. I swished my skirt, trying to air out my legs. There was always an undercurrent of panic in the getting ready process. No matter how early we started, in the ten minutes before our call time there was always at least one or two girls screeching about their hair, or their false lashes, that the curling iron had been unplugged, where _is_ my eyeliner? It was a miracle every time we made it out onto the stage.

The curtain had been drawn, enclosing us in the small expanse of the stage so that we were an uncomfortable, sweaty, thrilled, miserable crowd.

Someone found my fingers, squeezed them. I turned.

Colin.

Up close, he was startling, a grotesque set of features resembling a face. I looked similar, I knew, frightening to look at unless from a distance. Stage makeup required exaggeration. Everything about this year, I mused, had felt similar. I blinked, squinted, and his face resolved into something more human.

“Nice job on the eyeliner.” I noted. “Did you do it?”

Colin gestured to the blonde second-year girl who was playing his counterpart, Papagena. “Emily has a steadier hand than I do.”

Dr. Ritter whistled, and the chatter around us died down. “Listen up, everyone!”

It took a few more moments and another sharp whistle before everyone was silent.

“The doors open in ten minutes. You’ll all be sitting in the back rooms or in the wings, digesting your nerves.”

There was a murmur of uncomfortable laughter.

“Don’t worry about what you may or may not forget. Lines, music, it _will_ come together. Rely on your body to remember, and don’t get too caught up in your head. Remember to tell the story. Be present on stage.”

The first-years watched him with a graveness that I recalled from my first opera production. The rest of us had all heard this same speech verbatim multiple times.

“Get lost.” Dr. Ritter smiled, gruff act dropped. “Except for my third years.”

This was what I had been curious about. He always had a speech exclusively for the third-year vocal students that I had never heard before. The students in years ahead had always acted very mysterious and superior when asked about it. Something like a cousin to excitement thrummed behind my sternum. _Now it’s my turn._

Dr. Ritter was silent until the first and second years had left the stage and the seven of us stood in a semi-circle around him.

I glance at Audra. Her face was a mask, nothing of the storm brewing underneath apparently. Gabriel stood next to her, but there was a deliberate space between them.

I looked away.

“Remember that you are telling this story in German.”

I thought it was an odd thing to say, too obvious to be worth noting.

“The majority of the audience tonight will be made up of professional performers, and most of them will know the plot. Likely a fair few will be German speakers.” He paused, looking for changes in our expressions. “If this makes you nervous, good. You should be.”

Something in my stomach twisted.

“For each one of you, the beginning of the rest of your career depends on tonight.”

I watched Oliver’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

“Don’t let that get you _too_ anxious, though.” Ritter said. “Everybody in the audience knows that this is your first opera. Focus on doing the best job you can of showing that you’re competent. Especially,” He raised a finger, “if you make a mistake. You all know this, but I’ll say it again: the best thing you can do as a performer when you make a mistake is to pretend you didn’t.”

Audra twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers, looking a bit nauseous.

“Good luck, and god speed. Give it your best shot.” Dr. Ritter dismissed us.

“Oh.” He reached out as if to grab Hannah’s shoulder, but didn’t touch her. “I need to talk to you. The rest of you can go.”

Slightly put off, I cast a glance over my shoulder at the two of them as I walked off of the stage. Dr. Ritter stood, Hannah’s head inclined toward him, and spoke quickly and quietly enough that I couldn’t hear the words.

After a moment, Hannah nodded emphatically and turned to leave the stage, walking past me where I stood in the wings. I tried to catch her eye as she passed, but she stared resolutely ahead.

The next half-hour was glorious agony.

Cecily and Roseanne seemed to be possessed by the same restlessness that I was as we listened to the murmuring of the auditorium filling with people, the buzz punctuated by the occasional cough or loud remark by an enthusiastic passerby.

I wished I hadn’t already done my vocal warm-up, so that I could go and occupy myself, but there was nothing left to do but wait.

Gabriel, position on the other end of the stage, paced behind the curtains, every so often disappearing from view, only to re-emerge seconds later, hands on his hips, as the minutes ticked by.

After what felt like hours, the lights dimmed, then brightened. This sequence repeated several times, and then eventually, slowly dimmed until they were off.

Cecily was a silhouette beside me. I could hear her breathing shallowing, just barely make out the movement of her shoulders.

There was an aching moment of silent suspension, then –

The overture began with the all too familiar strain of a single chord, then silence, then a second chord. My heart skittered in my chest. I glanced over at Roseanne, who looked out toward the darkened stage, her eyes shining.

Gabriel now stood perfectly still across from us, several boys just behind him holding up the heaps of fabric that had been fashioned together to represent the serpent he was to battle in the opening scene.

I offered him a tentative smile. He looked away.

I counted out the beats, each note familiar.

Backstage we were a cage of wild beats, waiting, eager to prove ourselves.

I found that I was tapping out the rhythm of the violin section on my thigh, and made my hand be still.

Eventually, the final cadence sounded, and there was a brief moment of silence.

The curtain parted.

The tremolo in the violin section indicated Gabriel’s entrance.

He bounded onto the stage, casting a wild-eyed glance behind him as the fabric beast pursued. When he began to sing, his voice was clear, strong, and even.

Something eased in the pit of my stomach, then tensed again when I realized that we had less than sixty seconds until we were supposed to be on stage.

Roseanne and Cecily were prepared at my elbows.

On stage, Gabriel was fighting a futile battle with the serpent, casting blows with his sword, all while singing the story.

Twenty seconds.

He dove into the exposition, his voice soaring higher and higher with ease as he slashed and swiped across the stage.

Ten seconds.

The creature was gaining the upper hand.

Five seconds.

Three, two, one.

Gabriel fell.

The first time I’d seen him do this, I had nearly tripped over my own legs in my eagerness to make sure he was alright. At my worried expression, he’d looked annoyed.

“It’s a feint, Leah.” He had dusted himself off. “I’m fine.”

The three of us dashed onto the stage. My voice came out of me unbidden, high and even. I delivered the final blow onto the monster’s neck and the boys underneath fell to the ground.

The serpent slain, Gabriel lay on the ground, unmoving. I found myself watching to make sure he was breathing as the three of us circled him.

“Ein holder Jüngling, sanft und schön!” My voice rang true in the auditorium. _A pleasing youth, gentle and fair!_

Beside me, Roseanne spoke her line with a girlish flirtatiousness, her German remarkably good. _The fairest I have ever seen._

When the three of us began to sing, I was shocked by how well we blended. In this song, we were arguing over which of us would stay behind to protect this seemingly defenseless youth while the other two went to give a report to the Queen. This argument never really resolved, and before I knew what was happening, we were walking back off stage.

Colin was waiting in the wings for his cue, wearing a coat adorned with bird feathers. He shot me a roguish grin and a thumbs up as we passed him.

Safely behind the curtains, I pressed a finger to my throat, counting the beats. My pulse hammered so loudly I thought it was likely the other two could hear it.

Roseanne was beside herself with excitement. “We did it!”

Cecily put a finger to her lips, but she was smiling.

Behind us, on stage, Gabriel was speaking. I turned to watch as he got to his feet, then raised a hand to his ear, pretending to hear somebody coming.

The music for Colin’s song began, light and lilting, and he bounced onto the stage.

Gabriel hid behind a prop rock as Colin began to sing.

Colin’s character, Papageno, in sharp irony, was in desperate longing for a girlfriend. He played his pan flute, remarkably convincing, and when his song was over, Gabriel emerged from behind the rock.

My attention was pulled away when a stage-hand passed each one of us the props necessary for our next scene, but I knew what was happening anyway: Gabriel’s character assumed that Colin’s character had killed the serpent, and Colin eagerly took the credit.

Beside me, Roseanne lifted herself up onto the balls of her feet, and then back down.

It was time

I led the other two back onstage. “Papageno!”

I brandished a finger at Colin. In this scene, we were reprimanding him and punishing him for his lies.

He protested, but we persisted. I stood in front of him, effectively blocking him from the audience, and made a show of gesturing with my elbows while I slipped the elastic of a half mask over his head.

It was effective. When I stepped back, we had the first laugh from the audience. The elastic held a fake padlock in place, covering his mouth.

I spoke my lines in rapid, fluid German. _There! Now you will not lie._

Cecily presented Gabriel with a small portrait, a picture of Audra that we’d taken of her in costume several weeks ago in preparation for the show.

As he took it, his eyes softened, and I couldn’t tell whether it was out of genuine affection or whether he was just acting.

Roseanne spoke her lines without faltering. We told Gabriel that this was a picture of the Queen’s daughter, and promised that happiness could be his.

Then, Colin in tow, we left the stage. I grabbed his ear and he stumbled behind me, the padlock still firmly in place in front of his mouth.

Gabriel was left on stage alone. He gazed longingly at the portrait, the music for his aria swelling.

Hannah stood in the wings, her face painted white, her dress glimmering.

It felt like we had just come off of stage when it was time to go back on. Still dragging Colin, we entered with Hannah.

The next ten minutes blurred together. We announced Hannah as the Queen, she sang to Gabriel, telling him how her daughter had been kidnapped. I removed the padlock from Colin’s mouth. She gifted the two of them with a magic flute and magic bells, entreating them to rescue her daughter.

Every step of the plot progressed exactly as it was supposed to, but even though I was an active participant, I felt one step removed from it, watching myself as though from afar.

I was aware of the bright spotlight on my face and the oppressive silence of the auditorium, but it all felt a bit fuzzy. I supposed this was why the faculty put so much emphasis on memorization at Conolly.

I blinked and we were back in the wings.

Both Cecily and Roseanne looked equally dazed as I felt.

Across the stage, I could see Audra standing with her arms cross over her chest. She had her eyes fixed on Hannah, and even in the gloom I could see her brow creased, expression stormy.

Hannah caught her eye, and it was as if the two of them spoke silently at a distance. Something in Audra’s breath hitched, and she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Hannah turned and walked through the tunnel of black velvet curtains, and we followed her into the green room.

Oliver sat on a threadbare couch, legs crossed, his ankle on his knee, fingers clasped in front of him.

Waiting like that was an unbearably silent affair. We were ghosts in the small cupboard of a room as different cast members passed through, some staying behind to wait, others merely crossing to the other side of the stage, various props in hand.

Intermittently, a second-year dressed in all black would come back and beckon, and either Oliver or Hannah would get up, only to return within five minutes as their time on stage was over.

That was one of the strangest parts of participating in an opera. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine what was going on out there, but in those silent minutes backstage I was even less of an active participant than I would have been as an audience member.

It was halfway through the first act that things began to deteriorate.

A boy with wild curly hair came into the room empty handed, eyes wild. His appearance was strange, since he wasn’t supposed to be back here, but he stood in the doorway, looking extraordinarily worried, wringing his hands together.

We weren’t supposed to talk backstage, but Cecily frowned up at him. “What?”

His voice broke as he whispered, “It’s Audra.”

We didn’t need any other information. The three of us stood up, and despite the rule that we were not supposed to be in the wings unless we were waiting for a cue, we crowded through the door to watch.

On stage, Audra was cracking. There was something undeniably stiff in the set of her shoulders as Gabriel sang to her on stage. I could see the pain in Gabriel’s eyes, and knew that despite the emotion fitting with the scene, it wasn’t acting.

The next scene was even worse, amplified to the point that I found myself looking away, unable to watch from where I stood backstage as the two of them unravelled. 

Intermission was marked by applause, the curtain drawing closed. Colin strode off stage and into the wings, brows knitted together. When he saw me standing there in the dark, he shook his head, looking more than a little perturbed. 

"Do you know what's going on?" I asked. 

He shrugged. "More of the same?”

I bit my lip. 

"Whatever it is, they'd better fucking sort it out.” Cecily growled from behind me. "If they ruin the show, I am going to kill both of them with my bare hands." 

Gabriel and Audra were still on stage.

Gabriel stood with his back to us, the muscles in his back tensed, shoulders hunched. I could see Audra's face, though, her mouth drawn into a thin line, expression malevolent as they spoke rapidly in hushed tones.

At something he said, Audra’s eyes went wide. She cranked back her arm and put all of her energy into a slap that cracked across his face.

Gabriel staggered backwards. “What the –”

“I knew it!” Her accusation was loud enough that I was sure the audience could hear it. “You _bastard_!”

Gabriel was clutching his cheek and glaring at Audra.

“Who was it?”

I had never seen Audra so angry.

Gabriel said nothing.

“It was her, wasn’t it?” All of the fight had gone out of Audra. “Wasn’t it?”

Gabriel didn’t look at her.

“ _Fuck_ you.” She jabbed a finger at him and stormed past the rest of us in the wings.

Gabriel dabbed gingerly at his nose with his shirtsleeve. When he pulled away, there was a scarlet bloodstain on the cuff.

Oliver sidled behind me into the wings. He took one look at Gabriel and scrambled in his pockets for a tissue. “What the hell happened to you?”

To my surprise, Gabriel didn’t look angry. Instead, he just looked a little bit deflated, shaking his head as he accepted the tissue from Oliver and pressing it to his face. “I deserved it.”

I tried desperately to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look my way.

“What did you say to her?” Colin demanded. I wasn’t sure why, but his there was something frantic in his eyes. “What did you tell her?”

Gabriel looked at the ground and did not answer the question.

Colin grabbed him by the shoulders. “Gabriel. What did you say?”

This set Gabriel off. He wrenched away from Colin, eyes blazing. He’d let the tissue fall and blood dripped from his nose, spattering the ground as he spoke. “That’s none of your business.”

“Just tell me what you said.”

“Leave me _alone._ ” Gabriel stalked away into the green room, wiping furiously at his bloody face with his hands.

Colin watched him go, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. Right then, the look on his face reminded me of my family’s grandfather clock.

When I was young, we had a large wooden clock that stood in our narrow entryway. Back before I had ever aspired to be a singer, I had been convinced that I would be drafted into the Canadian Women’s Hockey League, and I had lived out my fantasies on the ground floor of my house, racing around with an invisible stick, practicing trick shots, chasing my imaginary hockey puck. Once, in a bout of enthusiastic energy, I had careened around the corner and lost my balance, socks slippery on the linoleum, crashing into the base of the grandfather clock, which had teetered dangerously for a moment before toppling to the ground. It had made a splendid noise, the wood splintering on impact, bringing both of my parents into the entryway in a flurry of panic.

After I had been thoroughly checked for any injuries and set aside in the corner where there was no glass, my father had turned the clock over to inspect the damage. The clock face had shattered, the cracks forming webs, rendering the numbers inside indiscernible.

That was what Colin looked like now as he stared at the door through which Gabriel had disappeared, and I knew who he had meant when he’d told me his secret.

“The show must go on.” He was still standing, but his eyes were dead.

It had to, I knew, but after what had just happened, it seemed impossible. Would Audra be able to continue after that declaration of war?

As it turned out, she didn’t have much of a choice. I saw her on the other side of the stage speaking with Dr. Ritter as the intermission drew to a close. She looked distinctly unhappy, but she nodded vehemently as he talked.

After that, every scene took on a dreamlike quality. If anyone had told me something had happened between Audra and Gabriel mere minutes before, I would have been surprised. On stage they were uncannily convincing, lovers torn apart by circumstance. I moved through the rest of my stage time in a fog. Even still I am unable to recall the details of the second act, except for a very specific moment.

Everyone broke the backstage rules when it was time for Hannah to sing. We packed into the wings like sardines, everyone too eager to hear her to care if our toes were stepped on. The violins began their fast tremolo, propelling the room into elegant, anxious anticipation.

When Hannah began to sing, her voice was the only thing in the room. It was not a beautiful song. Hannah it had been right, it was a rage aria, and tonight she seemed fuelled by it, her voice high, clear, savage, full. She echoed through the room, soaring, and when she reached the famous succession of impossibly high arpeggios, I thought I could hear a shift in the audience, a silent expectation met and surpassed. Hannah became a flute, everything about the sound impossible. Her voice preceded her. It seemed implausible that such a powerful sound could be coming from bird-like Hannah.

I realized my jaw was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

It wasn’t the first time I had heard the song, of course. I knew what it sounded like, had heard it behind the practice room doors for months, had even heard her sing it the night before with the full orchestration, but something about this performance took the notes and spun them new, made them magic. Maybe that was just Hannah.

The applause was deafening. I had known it would be, and something within me stretched and shifted, thrilled with Hannah, jealous, awed. The applause continued for a full minute, and I could see Audra waiting impassively for the sound to die down so she could begin her next line. She was solid now, her face unreadable, practiced neutrality ever her specialty.

The rest of the opera, it seemed, flowed without a hitch. I began to feel sick, aware that something irreparable had broken, anxious to get it over with, terribly afraid of what might happen next.

When Cecily tapped my shoulder, I was shaken out of my reverie, and the world around me focused, abhorrently clear.

The audience was clapping. The show was over. As if I was sleepwalking, I felt my legs lifting me, taking me onto the stage with Cecily and Roseanne on either side. I felt the corners of my mouth lifting, my hand was in front of me, waving, all unbidden. I bowed, and saw Cecily and Roseanne do the same beside me but it felt foreign, as though my body belonged to someone else.

The rest of the cast was there on stage with me. Audra was somewhere behind my elbow; I could see her arm waving. The chorus overwhelmed the stage. The applause from the audience grew muffled.

The curtain was closing. The production was over. Everything had been broken. It was all finished. The worst thing that could have happened, had happened.

Or so I thought.


	16. 15.

The parties after Conolly productions were of a different breed. These were the nights where inhibitions were left behind, where first years got blind-drunk, the more illicit substances were passed around, memories made and promptly forgotten. These parties took over the whole of the Conolly grounds, starting, like the galas, in the basement, but eventually spilling everywhere and ending up in the entrance hall, where at midnight, the cast list for the next show would be posted.

I found myself alone, jostled back and forth by unidentifiable bodies, unable to tell who was dancing and who was just staggering along on their way to some unknown destination. I couldn’t see anybody I knew. I couldn’t even see anybody I _recognized_ in the murky darkness of the room. There was a speaker set up beside me, and the bass blared so loudly as a new song began that I jerked away, startled.

It was a quarter to ten.

I wasn’t drunk, but I felt that way. I hadn’t been drinking, but I wished I had. Memories from the gala were still seared into my brain, fresh, grating, stinging.

I wanted to wear myself down to nothing. I’d begun the process that night all those weeks ago, and it had been ongoing since, a deliberate erosion of who I’d been. Dark restlessness whispered at the base of my neck, reminding me that this was the second last party like this one that I would ever attend, knowing somehow that after this show, nothing would ever be the same again. I shook with the adrenaline crash of post-performance, and with the unexpected hollowness I felt somewhere in the vicinity of my ribcage.

My parents hadn’t come. I’d known they wouldn’t because I hadn’t given them any notice of when the performance was, thinking they wouldn’t have wanted to come, privately out of a selfish desire to protect my own feelings, but I’d hurt myself anyway. My own selfishness had flared up again, and I’d felt the loss in a way that I hadn’t anticipated, when we had all walked out into the auditorium after the show and there had been no one to greet me.

Hannah’s parents had come, and Audra’s, of course. Gabriel’s older sisters had made an appearance, and both Cecily and Oliver’s entire families – parents and siblings alike – had made the trip out to see them.

Even Colin’s mother was there, despite his stilted relationship with his father, was a cop and had estranged himself from Colin when he had decided to pursue opera. I wondered now, in light of Colin’s secret, whether it had been for other reasons.

Regardless, everyone had _someone_. I was alone.

Now, some indefinite time later, I was _still_ alone, in the midst of a party that had just begun, surrounded by over-enthusiastic undergraduates on their way to drunkenness.

The place was uproariously loud. I found myself filled with a restless energy, burning, angry in my veins. Someone’s elbow knocked against someone else’s cup near me, the contents sloshing over the edge and splattering onto the floor. I felt primed to make poor choices, at war with myself, the heavy fury at nothing chaining me to this room. I already knew I wouldn’t repeat the mistake I’d made at the gala – that night had held me captive for long enough.

When I looked around, it felt like I was no longer looking at people, but rather at bodies that moved as though propelled by some unseen puppeteer, dolls on strings.

I thought I saw Oliver in the corner, and something tugged in my chest, but then he turned, and it was a second-year boy from the dance program. I hated that I was disappointed.

I think that was the moment I knew. Hindsight has enabled me to acknowledge that I had been discovering the truth about my own feelings from the moment he had stayed behind to talk to me during our first audition in September, but right then was the exact second I became cognitively aware of exactly how ruined I was. The realization tasted sour in my mouth. Months, wasted. Months ruined by my own inability to think before I acted, to resist when I knew I wanted to.

The guilt of it made tears burn behind my eyes, and so I redirected my attention toward looking around for other members of the group, though I was aware that not enough time had passed since their reunion with their parents.

I had enough feelings that I wasn’t sure what to do with all of them. The memory of the gala burned in my throat, threatening to erupt. I felt poisoned, and the whole event was tinged with it, everywhere I looked taking on an unpleasant hue, laced with memories and predictions in an awful cacophony of sound and light.

I didn’t know any of the people in this room, I realized with an unpleasant lurching sensation. I had always thought that this was the nature of Conolly, that everybody was only close with those in their department, but as I surveyed the room, it felt that there was a cohesive unity from which I was distinctly set apart.

Then I really _did_ see Oliver, in the corner, talking to Roseanne, who was looking at him with a very hopeful earnestness, hanging on to his every word. She laughed at something he said, playfully swatted his shoulder, and he grinned.

Annoyed, I found myself walking toward them.

Oliver looked over and saw me coming. He cast me an easy smile, then glanced over to where Audra was surrounded by a group of excited first and second year girls, looking as though she would rather be anywhere else. When he looked back at me, he raised an eyebrow. There was no need for him to ask the question aloud.

“I don’t know what happened.” I told him when I reached his side, trying not to make my worry visible. “Have you seen Gabriel anywhere?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been looking, but he hasn’t shown up yet.”

Roseanne looked a little put out by my appearance, staring down into the bottom of her cup, swirling the contents.

A set of familiar profiles caught my attention. Colin was just around a pillar, speaking quickly, shoulders drawn up in agitated frustration. Hannah listened intently, her bottom lip tucked under her front teeth, arms crossed.

I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach tense.

Oliver must have been watching my face. “What?”

I pointed, but at the same moment, Colin looked over and saw the two of us watching. His expression didn’t relax, exactly, but he attempted a smile and beckoned with a jerk of his head.

“Sorry.” I offered Roseanne an apologetic smile. “I’ll have to borrow Oliver for a second.

Roseanne muttered something incomprehensible and shuffled away.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow as he watched her go, awareness of her interested clearly just now dawning.

I rolled my eyes and made my way toward Colin.

He swung around when I came up behind him. “This lady,” he gestured to Hannah, “is sensation. Isn’t she?”

Hannah flushed.

“That aria was something else.” Oliver agreed.

Colin raised his eyebrows. “I don’t wanna be the one to call it, but… I’m just saying.”

Hannah’s eyes and attention were both elsewhere as she surveyed the room.

I grasped her arm, and she looked to me. Quietly, I said, “I hope he’s right. You _were_ sensational.”

Hannah’s smile was genuine, though it quickly faded. “Do you know if Audra is okay?”

I looked back to where I’d seen her before, but she was no longer among the group of giggling girls. “I think so.”

Hannah didn’t look convinced.

“Come on.” Oliver said, right behind me. He was close enough that if I took a half step back, we would be touching. “Audra is Audra. Sure, there were a few hiccups tonight, but –”

“A few hiccups?” Colin raised his eyebrows. “They could barely stand each other. Everyone in the room could tell. I mean –” he lowered his voice “– she _hit_ him.”

“They got it together by the end.” Oliver insisted, but he looked uneasy. “Hannah, you were great. Don’t ruin your night worrying about Audra. She’s a great singer. She’ll still get a good role.”

She bit her lip, hard. I wondered if the casting was what she was really worrying about. “I suppose.”

“Come.” Colin linked his arm through hers. “Let’s celebrate.”

Hannah shot us a bemused look as Colin pulled her away, through the crowd of people and toward the dance floor.

Sometimes I wonder what I might have done differently in that moment had I known that was the last time I’d ever see Hannah alive. Even now, on nights that I can’t sleep, I lie awake and imagine how things would have played out if one of us had made a different decision that night. Would anything have changed? Were we just careening towards disaster no matter what we did, or could we have changed the outcome if we had tried?

I can only console myself with the knowledge that we didn’t know. We couldn’t have known.

I looked at Oliver, but he was staring out over the dance floor, his eyes following Colin and Hannah as they threaded through the crowd. There was a slight crease in his forehead.

Primed to make poor choices.

I swallowed. “Let’s go somewhere.”

That caught his attention. He looked down at me. “Somewhere?”

“Somewhere else.” This close, I could feel the warmth radiating off of him. I’d always liked this about him, I remembered a little vaguely. When I looked up into his eyes, I was struck by the familiarity of him, the way that I knew him. A little disoriented, I couldn’t help the sensation that I was moving both forward and backward in time at once. “Somewhere quiet.”

I could see the gears whirring behind his eyes as he tried to figure out whether I was saying what he thought I was saying.

I touched his arm, nodding, hoping that he understood. “Will you come with me?”

That question felt like do or die. I was extending an olive branch, and for a horrible, lurching moment, I thought he was going to refuse it. But then –

“Okay.”

We didn’t speak. I led, he followed, and I wasn’t quite sure where I was going until we’d left the clamour of the party, climbing up the steps leading to the back entrance of the stage.

I turned, leaned against the door, pushed it open with my back.

Oliver watched me, expression guarded, careful. Always so careful.

In the auditorium the house lights were off, leaving only the spotlights on the stage, dim. The set loomed in the corners, pushed to the side.

I walked towards center stage, took a deep breath, inhaled the quiet, then turned. Oliver had stopped following me several feet behind, and now he stood silently, watching me, just outside of the light. My arms dropped to my sides. I was painfully aware of everything simultaneously: the oppressive silence, the warmth of the light on my skin, my heart in my chest.

“Leah…” He trailed off, his voice a warning.

I could only watch him, drink in the sight of him. I’d been so, so stupid. It felt unbelievable that I’d let him go, that I’d pushed him away, that I’d made the mistakes I’d made. Fear was a shadow compared with the very real man in front of me. Everything was different, now. I hadn’t been drinking, but my head swam as if I had. Memories from the year before flooded back. Oliver, whispering in the dark, Oliver’s skin on mine, laughing uncontrollably, together, his lips pressed against my temple. My own guilt was extinguished by wanting.

“I don’t want to play.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. “You know how I feel. I don’t –” He glanced at the ground, fingers twined together as tightly as possible. “Are you sure?”

“Doubt is not a pleasant condition,” I whispered, “but certainty is absurd.”

“Don’t quote Voltaire at me.” His voice was low. “I’m being serious.”

In the shadows, his face was sunken.

“So am I. You know me.” I said. “You _know_ me. I don’t play.”

He just watched.

I knew well enough that he wouldn’t come to me. I had to prove it, to stop skirting around the truth neither of us wanted to address.

“I was wrong.” I whispered. “I was stupid. I was afraid.”

He was still just looking at me, but something had shifted in his eyes. I knew that if I took the plunge, there was no backtracking.

“I’m not afraid anymore.” My voice came out stronger than I thought it would. I realized, with a jolt of presence, that my fingers were trembling. “I think whatever pain the future might hold, it – this – is worth it.”

He face was unlearnable. He stood there, impassive. “I want you to be sure.” He looked up at the lights suspended from the ceiling. “I can’t…”

“I know.” I stepped toward him, forced myself to straighten out my thoughts, remember that no matter how convincing he was, he was breakable. I took another step. “I don’t deserve you, for countless reasons. I need you to know that I know that.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, stopping my forward movement. “Wait. You know that –” He seemed to be having just as much trouble extricating his thoughts as I was “– I’m all or nothing here, right? I can’t do just… this can’t be a fling. Not with you.”

“You know me.” I said. “You know that’s not what I want.”

He looked at me a little sadly. “I feel like I don’t know what you want anymore.”

“That could change.” I cupped his cheek, traced the line of his jaw. “We were good together. I want…”

He leaned into my touch, eyelids fluttering shut for a half-second before opening again. He was very close now.

I laughed, but the sound hurt, and looked down at our shoes. “If you can forgive me for being such an idiot. For…”

He waited for me to finish.

“For hurting you.” I looked up at him. “I want to try again.”

He looked at me for an unbearably long time. “You’re sure?”

Two truths at war. _I have to tell him. I can’t._

My own emotions threatened to drown me, rising up until I choked on them. “I’m sure.”

He took a half-step forward, hand reaching up to my face in a mirror of my movement. His thumb stroked my cheekbone. This close, he was painfully beautiful, green eyes flecked with gold and brown, looking right through me.

I had to look away.

“Leah.” He reached up with his other hand, so that he was holding my face.

I looked back at him. I was shivering, I noticed, though not from the cold.

“Last chance.”

Our noses were almost touching. He was too close to look at anymore, so I closed my eyes. His hands were warm on my face. I was afraid my voice would waver, so I whispered. “Oliver.”

When he kissed me, it was everything I’d remembered, and then more.

This kiss was nothing like the one we’d shared in the hallway weeks ago, and yet, it was just the same: slow, gentle, soft, a question.

His hands slid to the back of my neck, drawing me in deeper. I was elastic in his arms, the smell of him dizzying. I clutched at his sweater, pulling him as close to me as possible.

It was slow, at first, and then it wasn’t at all, ardent, a complicated and wanton mess. His fingers were in my hair, then they were on my back, fingers splayed wide.

He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, my neck, the way I’d always liked it, the way I’d missed it. I felt dizzy, absurdly happy. I ran my fingers through his hair, soft between my fingers, his breath hot beneath my ear.

I let out a low groan, my exhale shaky.

He pulled away. “Is this too much?”

I gasped for air, breath ragged. “What?”

“This. Is it too much?”

I laced my fingers around his neck, breathing hard, and pulled him closer, kissing him hard. He began to walk me backwards, until I felt my back bump against the wood of the wall.

“I’d have you right here,” His voice was a hoarse whisper in my ear, “if it didn’t seem indecent.”

His mouth found my earlobe, and I shivered as his lips ghosted against it.

“Then let’s go somewhere else.”

He pulled back, examining my expression.

For a moment I just looked at him, our faces inches apart, afraid that if I spoke, the spell would break. His chest heaved against mine, our bodies pressed together as though we were afraid of space between us.

“You sure?”

“I’m not playing.” I reached up and traced the outline of his cheek down to his jaw. I leaned in, kissed him softly and slowly until he responded in turn.

“You know I won’t say no.” He pulled away, clearly not finished with his statement.

I kissed him again before he could speak. “This is yes.”

He made a low noise in his throat. “Where?”

“Not my room. Cecily might be there.”

“No one will be in mine.” He kissed me between words. “We can –” his mouth found my neck; my back arched “— lock the door. They’ll know not to come in.”

“Okay.” I could hear the desperation in my own voice. Apparently, so could he, because he made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a low growl, breath hot on my skin. He kissed my collarbone, pulling the sleeve of my dress aside so that my bare shoulder was exposed.

My hands were on his chest, fingers finding the gaps between the buttons on his shirt, tugging, and for a split second I thought we weren’t going to make it off of the stage at all.

Then he staggered back, breathing hard. “Jesus. God. Okay. Not here.”

I watched him rest his hands on his knees, feeling half amused, half delirious. When he looked up, he tossed me a careless smile and my heart thrummed.

He extended a hand, which I took, and he pulled me across the stage, peering into the hallway before entering.

Neither of us spoke while we half-walked half-ran down the tunnel that connected the east wing with the dormitories, but Oliver never let go of my hand.

He was flushed when we arrived outside of the bedroom door, and for a moment he stopped with his hand on the brass handle, looking back at me.

“Oliver.” It didn’t come out like a word, more like a gust of air. I turned his hand in my own, lifted it to press my lips against his pulse point, never breaking eye contact.

He turned the handle.

-

After, I lay next to him, our legs tangled, sheets cast haphazardly across us. I traced invisible patterns in the hollow of his collarbone, my head resting on his shoulder.

He was looking at me, I knew, the same way he had been looking at me for months. I could feel his eyes on my face just as I could feel his chest rising and falling, the steady beating of his heart. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t too anxious to look back at him.

Everything about Oliver’s expression was gentle – his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the slope of his nose. Everything about _Oliver_ was gentle.

I’d told him I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was afraid now. I was terribly afraid, but I also felt a fire burning in my chest. Bravery, maybe. Wanting.

Oliver shifted, lifting his head up to peer over me, then collapse back onto the pillow. His arms tightened around me, and I rolled towards him. He planted a kiss on my forehead, the murmured into my hair, “It’s almost midnight.”

“Is it?” I lifted myself up unto my elbows. The digital clock on the nightstand cast on offensive red glow, reading eleven thirty-eight.

I had forgotten what midnight would bring. “The cast list is going to be very different this time, isn’t it?”

“After tonight?” He paused, long enough that I thought he might have fallen asleep. When he finally spoke, his voice was a ghost. “Undoubtedly.”

Then he sighed, nearly inaudible.

I turned my head so that my cheek pressed against the skin on his shoulder, my lips just barely whispering against the skin where his pulse was counting out the seconds.

His breath caught. Absently, he began stroking my hair. “We should go,” he said, but made no move to get up.

“Probably.” I twisted on my elbow so that I was facing him.

Something in my expression must have worried him, because his eyebrows drew together, forming a crease on his forehead. “Is this the part where you say you...” His voice was quiet. “That you think it was a mistake?”

I watched him carefully. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

He closed his eyes. “God, Leah. No. Of course not.”

I kissed the spot on his forehead between his eyebrows. “I’m not going anywhere.” I kissed his nose, then his mouth, feeling his slow smile beneath my lips.

“If I had known what life would be like without you…” I shook my head. “I never would have left.”

His eyes searched my face. Then he groaned and tugged me down so that I was on top of him, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing. “I missed you every minute.”

Then he let out a long, extended sigh.

“That was a very melancholy sound.” I mumbled against his shoulder. “Are you melancholy?”

“Not anymore.” He said. “Just… it was – lonely. It’s always been lonely, here.”

“I know.”

He paused. “Do you?”

I turned my head, rested my cheek against his skin. “I don’t know. Do I?”

He let out a second extended sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if it was stupid of me to even try.”

“Try…?”

“Performing.”

“Oh.”

He laughed, bitterly. “I’ve been cast as the villain in every performance we’ve done, have you noticed that? Even in the little ones.”

It was clear that this was something Oliver had been wanting to say for a long time, so I kept quiet.

“I’m different.” He said, almost like it was a question. “I look different and it makes me different. It makes them _look_ at me differently. It makes them _cast_ me differently. It makes me… separate.”

I was about to say something when he continued.

“You were the first one that made me feel equal.” He ran a finger along my shoulder and down my arm. “I just felt like a person.”

“You never talked about all this before.” I whispered.

“I didn’t notice it so much until you were gone. But it’s like – now I actually have a chance at success. I never _dreamed_ I’d get this far. I feel sometimes like – a token diversity student, or something. It’s… yeah. Lonely.”

I sat up. “You are _not_ a token _anything_. Oliver. You’re insanely good. You know that, right?”

“I feel so divided from everyone else. It doesn’t matter if I’m good.”

“What about Gabriel? You guys are friends.” Something tugged at my gut.

“Sort of.” He shrugged. “Gabriel’s always been a little… preoccupied.”

“With what?”

A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth upward. “Himself.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

Oliver squeezed me once, lips pressed against my shoulder, and his voice came out muffled. “Okay. We should really go. Don’t want to miss the big reveal, do we?”

I nodded, then whispered, “Thanks for telling me all that. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I’m just glad to have you back.” He said. “I’m glad we can be honest with each other.”

“Yeah.” I pushed myself up and rolled over, my skin already cooling without his body heat, feeling like I carried a lead stone in my chest. Sitting up, I twisted back around to look at him. “Are you coming?”

He was looking back up at me through heavy lids. He lifted his hand and traced the curve of my spine. “In a second.”

I shivered at his touch, then looked at the crumpled heap of my dress lying on the ground. Oliver sat up.

“I’m going to find some other clothes.” I said, pulling the dress up around me. I stood up and wrestled with the fabric, trying to get my arms through, eventually succeeding. “Don’t leave without me.”

When I looked back, he grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	17. 16.

The party was a changed beast. In our absence, it had become louder, impossibly, rowdier, spilling out of the basement and migrating up into the entrance hall in anticipation of the casting. Oliver held my hand like he was afraid of letting go, his hair falling into his eyes, peering towards the front of the room. His eyes locked on the notice board: when he saw it was empty, he sighed in relief.

I was surprised that Audra wasn’t there. Considering her anticipation and stress in the weeks leading up to the production, I’d thought that she would be among the first to wait, but there was no sign of her.

I tugged Oliver down closer to my level, speaking directly into his ear in order to be heard over the echoing crowd. The vaulted ceilings of the entrance hall did no favours to the atmosphere. “Do you see anyone?”

Oliver stretched onto the balls of his feet, peering with a hand over his eyes. For a moment, his eyes brightened in recognition, but then he frowned. “There’s Colin.”

I craned my neck, and saw him two steps up on the staircase across the room, but knew right away why Oliver had frowned. Colin looked unimaginably wound up, waiting, his jaw tensed, scanning the room, looking slightly ill.

“He looks like he’s having a good night.” I tried to keep my voice light, but I had a sliding downward sensation in the pit of my stomach.

Oliver waved to Colin, and when he saw us, his features relaxed into sharp relief. He bounded down the stairs towards us two at a time.

“I was starting to think that it was Armageddon.” He spoke a little breathlessly as he was reaching us. Then his eyes flickered down to where our hands were clasped together. “Oh god damn it. I owe Cecily ten dollars.” Colin looked slightly irked. “You couldn’t have waited an hour?”

Oliver and I glanced at each other, slightly bemused. I had been expecting mixed reactions from the rest of the group – likely most of them had been waiting for it – though I had not known that it would be to this extreme.

“You had a bet?” I asked him. Oliver squeezed my fingers.

Colin peered over the crowd like he was waiting for bad news. “Of course we did.” He said, a little absently. “Got to capitalize off of other people’s happiness somehow.”

Seeming to find no one else, he glanced back at the two of us. “Congratulations, or whatever is the least weird thing to say in this situation. Don’t be idiots.”

“Thanks, mom.” Oliver rolled his eyes, but then smiled good naturedly. “Where’s everyone else?”

“That’s the thing.” Colin slapped him on the shoulder, grasped his arm. “I’m not sure.”

“You’ve been on your own this whole time, then?” I asked him.

Colin didn’t look at me. He hadn’t been looking before, but this felt changed suddenly, a very _deliberate_ act of not looking, and didn’t answer. He glanced at his watch and bounced on the balls of his feet, then craned his neck. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“How close?”

“Three minutes ‘til.”

I frowned. “That does seem odd.”

I felt sleepy, disoriented in the large hall, the many voices blurring together to form a wall of blurry sound. It would die down, I knew, when the teachers entered the room, but at the moment it was loud enough that all I wanted to do was rest my head on Oliver’s shoulder and close my eyes.

“You’d think they’d want to be the first to know, wouldn’t they?” Oliver sounded confused.

It occurred to me that right then I didn’t much care what role I got. I didn’t even know what the next opera was going to be. “Did they announce what we’ll be doing next term?”

Colin frowned at me. “Yes. After the curtains closed. You were there, weren’t you?”

“I was.” I cleared my throat. “I was feeling a little off, though. Adrenaline rush, you know.”

Colin frowned at me, clearly not relating.

“It seemed to all blur together, that’s all. What was the show?”

Oliver answered. “ _La Sonnambula_.”

“What’s that?” I turned to him.

He let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist instead. “Not certain, entirely. Haven’t had much time to think about it.”

Colin wrinkled his nose. “Some little Italian number. I think Blackburn mentioned it a few weeks ago, but I know next to nothing about the plot. I think it’s a Bellini opera?”

“Sleepwalker.” I said, the words coming to me in a rush. “The Sleepwalker. I think that’s what ‘la sonnambula’ means in Italian.”

Colin squinted at me, then grinned. “You were actually paying attention in Italian? Insufferable, you are.”

When he did another sweep of the room with his eyes though, the smile faded. “Where _is_ everyone?”

I caught a glimpse of a flash of red hair through the bodies. “Is that Cecily?”

Oliver craned his neck, then began to wave. “It is.”

A few moments later, Cecily burst through the crowd, her mouth drawn together in a thin line. She looked at us, then around the room. “Where are the rest of you?”

“Don’t know.” Colin glanced back over the crowd.

“I thought…” Cecily seemed lost for words, peering around her. Then she saw Oliver’s arm around me, and her mouth twisted into something like a grimace. She punched Colin’s arm. “I told you.”

He jerked away, rubbing at his arm where she’d hit him, then raised his arms in surrender. “I know, I know.”

The large door leading out into the entrance hall opened with a loud clatter, and the room fell silent.

It was remarkable, really, how quickly it happened: all sound _extinguished_ , just like that.

If it hadn’t been so quiet, perhaps I would not have noticed a side door opening, Gabriel and Audra sliding their way into the room. They had both changed out of their costumes, hair wet.

I pointed them out to Colin, and he began to wave them over, but they were already making their way towards the front of the room, to the board which Dr. Davis and Dr. Rutledge were approaching.

Oliver whispered into my ear, close enough that his lips grazed the skin. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones making things right, eh?”

I pressed my back into his chest.

There was an excited murmur in the room.

Audra bit her thumbnail, one of her habits when she was especially nervous. She looked up, and for a second I thought she saw us, but then she looked back towards the board. Gabriel followed close behind her, his nose bright pink. Had he been crying?

Where was Hannah? Surely, she wouldn’t miss this.

I had expected more of a grandiose moment when the cast list was posted, but this was what happened: Dr. Rutledge handed it to Dr. Davis, who took it with one hand, grabbed a thumb tack with the other, and pinned the piece of paper firmly in place.

That was all.

She turned around. “Where are my third years? Wherever you are, come. You get the first look.”

Audra and Gabriel were the first there.

My feet were moving of their own accord. _Where_ was Hannah? It seemed wrong that she should miss this moment.

Audra read the list, her shoulders tight. When she turned away, she’d covered her face with her hands, just like last time, but it was impossible to tell whether the gesture was prompted by relief or dismay.

Oliver was beside me. Cecily was just behind. We were close enough to the list that I could almost make out the words.

Gabriel had read it too, and was looking at Audra, who still had her hands covering her face. The emotions on his face were impossible to interpret.

I stopped walking, suddenly unable to look, not wanting to see. This would be the thing that broke us.

Oliver looked back at me, seemed to see the fear in my face, and moved closer without me. He and Colin read the list together, then broke away, looking at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Is it good?” My voice was squeaky. “Are we…?” I didn’t know how to finish the question.

Colin shrugged. “I don’t know the opera well enough.”

Dr. Davis was watching our group, confusion evident on her face. Perhaps she had expected more exuberance, tears of joy or of sadness. More likely, she had noticed Hannah was not among us.

I took tentative steps toward the cast list.

In bold type, the name of the opera was printed and centered at the top: **La Sonnambula – The Sleepwalker.**

The names of the characters were in bold type, too, but the casting had been done in blue ink.

**Amina** : Hannah Frazier

 **Elvino** : Gabriel Morrow

 **Count Rodolfo** : Oliver Gray

 **Lisa:** Audra Daly

 **Teresa** : Leah Woodley

 **Alessio** : Colin Thorpe

 **Notary** : Cecily Preece

Hannah had gotten the lead.

It wasn’t surprising, but why wasn’t she here?

Dr. Davis seemed to be thinking the same thing. She turned to Gabriel. “Where’s Hannah?”

Several emotions crossed Gabriel’s face at once, none of them identifiable. “I don’t know.”

Unease diffused through me like rot. When I looked at Colin, he had cast his gaze toward the ceiling, looking ill.

Cecily, on the other hand, was white-faced. “None of you saw her tonight?”

She cast her eyes around the group, only to be met with a faltering series of head shakes.

“So _none_ of us saw Hannah.” Colin looked fierce, an expression I did not think I had ever seen on him before. He turned to Gabriel, face tight. “She never talked to you?”

Gabriel looked annoyed. “What are you interrogating me for?” He took a step back. “No, I never saw her.”

Something was twitching in Colin’s face, and for a moment, out of nowhere, I thought that he was going to try and fight Gabriel, but then all of his aggression faded at once, like a popped balloon. “All right.”

Audra had turned around. She looked distinctly unwell. “So that’s it, then.”

I watched her, feeling myself teeter on the edge of something like panic.

Audra glanced back at the cast list, and then without warning, her face crumpled, and she turned on her heel and ran out of the room. Gabriel cast the rest of us an apologetic glance, before turned to follow her, footsteps hasty.

“Maybe she’s in her room.” Colin said slowly.

“She isn’t.” Cecily responded a little too quickly.

“Why are you worried?” Oliver asked. “Maybe she went off with her parents to celebrate. She was a shoo-in, after all. She didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her that she was going to get the lead.”

Colin shook his head. “Her parents left. I watched them go.”

I felt my shoulders tighten. “You don’t think… You aren’t thinking that something happened to her?”

Colin shook his head again, his eyes distant. “I’m trying not to. Christ.” He raised a hand to his head. “I’m too tired for this.”

I looked up at Oliver. He was staring towards the door through which Dr. Davis had left, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

“Where do you think she is?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I have no idea.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Maybe she decided to go into town, or something.”

“I’m going to go find out.” Cecily said. “My family is staying at the hotel. There’s no other place for her parents to have gone, so maybe she’s with them.”

“Are you insane?” Colin asked her, eyes wide. “It’s practically blizzarding out there!”

“Is it?” I walked over to the window, but the pane had frosted over so that it was impossible to see out. “Were you outside?”

“I was…” Colin trailed off, then shivered. He looked right at me. “I was looking for you all, actually.”

The eye contact was slightly unnerving.

“I cut back through the courtyard on my way back.” He looked away. “I could barely see three feet in front of me. There’s no way anyone in town is going to come up here to get you, and you’re sure as hell not walking.”

Cecily worried at her bottom lip. “What if that’s where Hannah is?”

There was a moment of grave silence as we considered the idea. Students had died in the winter at Conolly. The cold in the mountains was not friendly, and once it began to snow like this, the roads became treacherous. It was easy to fall in the dark, much more difficult to get back up.

“She’s not an idiot.” I found my voice. “She knows not to go out in the dark by herself in a storm.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Cecily was beginning to look frantic. “She didn’t come to Conolly until March of last year, right? The worst of the winter was over by then.”

“It’s not like she came from the tropics.” I snapped at her. “Calgary gets snow too.”

“Not like this!” Cecily began to pace.

“Guys!” Oliver put his hands up between us. “Guys. This is all speculation. For all we know she’s fallen asleep somewhere. You know how it can be after performances.”

“But she wasn’t –” Cecily looked troubled.

“Maybe she’s back there now.” Colin said irritably, rubbing his eyes. “I need to either drink more or go to sleep, and at the moment I’m feeling quite a bit more inclined to the latter.”

Cecily’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Colin sighed. “Look, maybe she’s in town. Maybe she’s outside. We’re not going to be able to help in the dark while it’s still snowing. We’ll call in to town tomorrow if she doesn’t turn up tonight. Let’s check her room, and if she isn’t there, we’ll wait.”

As it turned out, she was not in her room, or ours, or the boys. The kitchen was empty, and so was the lounge area. Neither Gabriel or Audra were in the dormitory either, which wasn’t particularly unusual. They often found other places to be, having become experts at the small nooks in the school. But Hannah?

Something prickled uncomfortably at the base of my spine.

“I think that’s about as much as we can do.” Colin looked thoroughly weary.

“We’re supposed to just let her be gone?” Cecily was outraged.

“She’s fine.” Colin passed a hand over his forehead and stifled a yawn. “This is a huge building. She’s not gone, she’s somewhere.”

Cecily seemed to be having a difficult time containing herself. “You – I –” she seemed to deflate. “Fine. I’m going to bed, then. Like I’ll sleep.” On her way into the room, she spun back around and thrust a pointed finger in my direction. “ _Don’t_ bring him in here.”

Oliver laughed a little nervously.

She slammed the door.

“Good god. She needs to get…” Colin seemed unsteady on his feet.

“Go to bed, Colin.” Oliver said. “That’s what you need.”

“Right. Bed. Righto.” Colin elongated the ‘o’. “If you hear anything, or if she comes back…” He hooked his thumb around the doorframe. “I was going to say wake me up, but on second thought, don’t. I’m done for the night.”

He disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

Then it was just me and Oliver in the hallway. He turned to face me, his face a collage of all of the information we had just heard.

“It looks like you got a good role.” I said softly.

“I suppose I did.” He looked as though he hadn’t yet considered it. “I don’t know anything about the opera.”

“Neither do I. I’ve already forgotten who I’m playing.”

“It all seems a little silly now, doesn’t it?” He kissed my hairline.

“What, the casting?”

“School.” He said. “Music. The lot of it. It’s killing us.”

“It’s killing Audra.” I said softly. “Is this just how it is? Performance life?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

I sighed. “I wish Cecily wasn’t in my room.” I said softly.

“I know.” Oliver tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Christmas break is coming, though.”

“It’s already started, actually.” I pointed out. “As of right now it’s December sixteenth. End of term.”

He smiled, leaned his forehead on mine. “Good.”

“Where are you going to go?” I asked. “Home?” 

He shrugged, pulled back ever so slightly to look at my face. “That was the plan. Are you?”

“I don’t know.” I worried my bottom lip. “I was thinking about staying, actually.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That sounds lonely.”

“Anywhere will be less lonely than with my parents.”

He seemed to be considering this. “You could come to Vancouver. For the holidays.”

“Oliver. I couldn’t do that.”

“Think about it, at least.”

“When is your flight out?”

He smiled. “Not until the twentieth. Friday.”

I smiled back at him. “Okay, good.”

He kissed me. I thought I would never get tired of it. Then he turned as if to leave, then changed his mind and kissed me again.

“Don’t worry about Hannah, okay?” He pressed his lips to my forehead before turning to follow Colin into the room. He stilled in the doorway. “I’m sure she’s fine. Goodnight, Leah.”

She wasn’t. I would never see Hannah Frazier alive again.

I smiled at him. “Goodnight.”


	18. ACT THREE

“I haven’t understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it.” 

_— Igor Stravinsky_


	19. 17.

There wasn’t any in-between.

There was only before, and after.


	20. 18.

The next morning I woke to the sharp metallic pulsing of the phone next to me bed. Once, in annoyance, I had thrown it against the wall, which had done more damage to the wall than to the phone, but had damaged an internal mechanism so that now instead of ringing, it made an unbearable grinding noise.

My hand shot out from under the blankets, tapping blindly for the snooze button, but upon discovering that the sound wasn’t an alarm, I wrenched the phone from the receiver and pressed it against my ear, annoyed.

Audra was the only person besides Dr. Davis who ever called this phone, and unless there was urgent information, I doubted I would be hearing from my professor at seven twenty-eight on a Sunday morning.

I expected to hear Audra’s voice asking for Gabriel on the other end, so I spoke before she could get a chance to.

“What?” I hoped my tone conveyed my annoyance.

She didn’t say anything. There was a half-second of eerie, suspended silence. I was about to slam the phone back down when I heard the quietest sound. A whimper. A choked sob followed.

I felt something seize in my chest, and I spoke cautiously. “Hannah?”

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it in confusion. In all three years at Conolly I had never received a phone call like that one.

Cecily was asleep, somehow, through the noise. I watched her for a moment where she lay slumped, still wearing her costume, evidently having fallen asleep where she sat waiting. I wondered how long she’d sat there, worrying.

I wondered where Hannah had gone off to. I wondered what her plans were for Christmas break. I’d never asked her. It felt a little odd to realize how little I knew of Hannah. She was such a private person that even though we’d spent much of the last month in close quarters, I had no idea who she was outside of the pressure of school. Right then I swore up and down that next semester I’d try to get to know her better.

I wondered if anybody else was awake. More accurately, I wondered if Oliver was awake. The strange inevitability of last night had left me feeling at once both assured and afraid. I knew I had to tell him the truth. It had been cowardly of me to let last night happen when he didn’t know what had really happened.

First, I needed a shower.

I always hated showering in the long, echoing bathroom, but this morning was especially awful, because it was freezing. The translucent windows made it impossible to see out onto the grounds, but the brightness combined with the temperature suggested that the snow from the night before had stayed.

I showered as quickly as I possibly could, deftly knotted my wet hair into a single braid, dressed in the dark so as to not wake Cecily, and slipped down the dormitory hall.

On my way to the dining center, I ran into Dr. Davis. She looked preoccupied with her own thoughts, walking briskly in the opposite direction, but when she saw me, she stopped.

“Ah, Leah.” She appraised me. “Fine job last night.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Davis glanced out the window at the snow-capped trees. “You haven’t seen Hannah anywhere this morning, have you?”

I shook my head. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I thought she’d be pleased to hear that she got Amina.” Dr. Davis seemed more than a little put out. “Oh well. When you see her, tell her to stop by my office, will you?”

I nodded, and Dr. Davis continued on her way, the heels of her boots echoing in her wake.

The dining hall was mostly empty, though I wasn’t surprised. I knew that it was very likely that the party last night would have only played itself out around four in the morning, if last year was anything to go by. Students would begin trickling out with suitcases in the afternoon, free to go home whenever they pleased, but only a small number would make an appearance so early in the day.

Even though I hadn’t really expected Hannah to be there, there was a small part of me that was disappointed when I scanned the room and found her missing. I selected a plate of fruits and toast and sat by myself in the corner, but I’d only been sitting for about two minutes when the doors opened once more.

Oliver walked into the room, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. His hair was curling, still damp from showering. When he scanned the tables and saw me sitting there, he smiled so that his whole face lit up.

Something behind my sternum dropped like a stone. I was going to ruin him with the truth.

He strode across the hall and sat down next to me, tugged lightly on my brain. “This is intolerably cute.”

I couldn’t help smiling back at him, all indulgence.

“I’ve seen you wear it like this a couple of times and I always wanted to tell you that.” He folded his long legs under the bench and kissed my cheek. “Good morning, by the way. Anyone else up?”

The real question was behind the voiced one. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I’m sure we will.” He said matter-of-factly, swiping a piece of buttered toast from my plate.

I swatted at him as he bit into it, but I couldn’t be mad. “I got a weird phone call this morning.”

He frowned, mouth full toast, and grimaced as he swallowed it. “From Audra?”

I shook my head and described the call.

He wrinkled his nose, considering. “Maybe it _was_ her, and she just didn’t want you to know she was upset about something.”

I scoffed. “Audra’s never exactly tried to hide her emotions.”

He tilted his head, considering. “I supposed you’re right.”

I stabbed rather aggressively at a piece of cantaloupe.

“I think we should talk.” Oliver’s voice was evan.

I stared at him, my fork suspended halfway between the plate and my mouth. The speared bit of cantaloupe fell off.

“You don’t have to look so terrified.” Oliver grinned. “It’s not anything like that. I just mean, well… we didn’t exactly do much talking yesterday.”

My cheeks flushed pink.

“And…” His smile faded ever so slightly, “I miss talking with you. Really talking.”

I felt at a loss for words, torn between being utterly charmed and terrified by what I knew would accompany a talk. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s talk.”

“We could walk outside around the lake, like we used to.” His smile was warm.

“In this weather?”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with the weather?”

“Did you look outside yet?”

He stood. “No. Hadn’t crossed my mind to.”

I followed him over to the window, watching as his jaw dropped. In truth, I hadn’t seen the snow myself yet, just the hint of it in the chill over the air and brightness of my window, so when I looked outside, I felt his shock mirrored on my own face.

“That’s a _lot_ of snow.”

For a moment I was unable to process exactly how much snow had fallen. The shapes of the bushes on the front lawn were barely visible, just indistinct lumps. The snow reached nearly to the frost-laced windows, which were at least eight feet off of the ground, from what I remembered. It was still snowing, though it was a lazy effort at this point. I’d seen Conolly with this much snow before, two or three times, actually, but in those cases it had accumulated over several days of exceptionally poor weather.

“What’s that, six feet? Seven? In one night?” Oliver sounded incredulous. “That _has_ to be some sort of record.”

For a brief moment I thought of Hannah, missing. _Three_ feet of snow was a lot to navigate. Seven bordered on impossible.

Oliver seemed to be thinking the same thing. We shared an uneasy look. He spoke carefully. “Well, won’t be about to walk anywhere in that without a struggle. Inside, then?”

“Thank god for the tunnels.” I tried to keep my voice as light as possible.

“Then if we run into Hannah somewhere, that’s one thing less to worry about. Okay?”

I nodded, and he took my hand. My chest tightened. _I do not deserve this_.

He led me through the entrance hall, which was unpleasantly drafty – someone had opened one of the windows by the front door, though I couldn’t see how, as they were at least a dozen feet high – and one of the custodians was now balanced precariously on a ladder struggling to get it close again.

One of the things I had forgotten about Oliver – perhaps purposefully, as it was something I had sorely missed – was that he always found a way to be in contact with me, through holding my hand, or sitting with our knees touching, or his arm thrown carelessly around my shoulder. He was unashamedly public with his affection, which fortunately I had never minded. I wondered now what people would think.

“Have you seen either Gabriel or Audra yet this morning?” I asked him, desperate to avoid serious conversation.

He shook his head. “If Audra came back to the rooms last night, she was gone by the time I was leaving. Her door was open, nobody was there.”

“And Gabriel?”

“Nope. Not that I know of. Maybe they were… somewhere else. You know.”

I felt his arm snake around my waist.

He laughed in my ear. “Maybe we should ask them about their secret places.”

I wiggled away, trying to wrestle down panic. “I – thought we were talking.”

He shook his head, looking amused. “You sound like one of your parents.”

“Hey!” I swatted at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Does it have to be so formal?”

I looked at him, then away, trying and failing to disguise my rising anxiety. “Maybe it does.”

We walked past the library, where the high windows cast bright reflections on glossy tabletops.

Oliver stopped walking. “Leah. Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “I –”

I was going to cry. I hadn’t even started talking yet and tears already burned behind my eyes.

“What – where’s this coming from? Hey.” Oliver turned to face me. “Hey. You’re okay.”

I looked up at him.

He must have seen my anguish in my expression, because his smile faded entirely, and he stepped back, examining my face. I saw several emotions cross his features in rapid succession: worry, fear, realization, anguish. “No. Don’t.”

“It’s not about now.” I shook my head. “It’s not about last night. I don’t regret it. I still want –”

He just watched me as I sucked in a sharp breath.

This felt exactly as it had to break up with him, except this time I didn’t want to. I covered my eyes with my hand.

“Leah.” Oliver’s voice was very quiet. “What’s going on?”

“I –” My voice came out strangled. “I have to tell you something.”

He took hold of my wrist and pulled it gently away from my face.

I looked down.

“Leah.” He repeated. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I don’t want to hurt you any worse than I already have.” The first tear dropped, and I swiped at it angrily. “I want this. I want to be together.”

“Then what’s stopping us?” Oliver touched the side of my face, trying to get me to look at him. “You know I want this too.”

“I did something bad to you.” I whispered. “Before.”

When I looked up, his face was unreadable. He watched me, all careful observation. “What did you do?”

“I – don’t –” I felt like something was stretching taut in my chest. “I don’t know why it happened. Or how, really. I hated myself for it.”

“When we were still together?” He asked.

I could see him piecing it together, understanding the read truth before I’d even said it.

“Oh.” He said. “Leah.”

“I have to say it out loud, alright?” I whispered. “Then you can say whatever you want, or do whatever you need to do.”

He stared at me.

I tried to take a deep breath, but the air felt trapped in my lungs. “I cheated on you.”

His face did not change at all, remaining utterly inscrutable.

I burst into tears. “I felt like the worst person on the planet as soon as I’d done it. I didn’t even have a good reason. You were doing everything right. We were happy. I was just – this is what I was talking about. I might be a bad person. I know I don’t deserve you, and I was terrible not to tell you –”

“When?” His voice was cool, even. “When was this?”

I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I couldn’t. “Right before we broke up. The day before.”

“And that’s why you did it, right? That’s why you ended it?”

I nodded.

There was still a piece of the puzzle I hadn’t touched on. The _worst_ piece.

Oliver had gotten there. “Who was it?”

I let out a slow breath.

“Wait.” Oliver turned, covered his face with both hands, dragged them down, and let out a low breath. He turned back to me and shook his head. “I – I don’t think I want to know.”

Relief burst in my chest. “You – what?”

“I sort of – I think I knew already. That something like that had happened.” He looked down at the ground. “It was so – out of nowhere. I… had a feeling.”

“Oliver, I’m _so_ sorry. I’m sorry that it happened, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how. I’m sorry I let last night happen without telling you.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, just stared at the ground.

Something stabbed through my chest, all white-hot pain. I closed my eyes, relishing the way it felt. _I deserve this_.

Oliver sighed. “Do you think it would help me to know who it was?”

“I don’t think I can answer that for you.” I took a deep breath. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

He touched his mouth, staring down the hallway

I made myself look at him, _really_ look at him properly.

His question was unexpected and sounded far away, almost absent. “Do you regret it?”

“Of course I do.” I crossed my arms tightly. “I think about it all the time. I – I _hated_ myself for doing that to you.”

“I don’t know what to do, here.” He said. “I –”

“You’re allowed to hate me.” I interjected quickly. “You’re within your rights if you never want to speak to me again.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He laughed bitterly. “Obviously I don’t hate you.

“It says a lot that you told me.” He said. “I know you. Why did you do that?”

My response came out whispered. “Because I want this to work. And I knew that if I wasn’t honest, it would always be between us.”

He watched me.

I took in a slow, steady breath. “Because I wanted you to have a chance to leave knowing what really happened.”

Oliver let out a long, slow exhale. “Do you want me to leave?”

I shook my head. “No. I’d understand if you did, though. Obviously.”

His silence was impossible to read.

I turned away, trying to ignore the pressure building in my chest. It was out now, except for the part he didn’t want to know, and I certainly wasn’t going to press to tell him.

“Let’s start slow, then.” He said. “Build back trust.”

I turned, disbelieving.

“Right now, I –” He pressed his closed fist against the wall. “I’m not sure what I think.”

“Really?”

“Leah, last night happened for a reason.” Oliver said. “I – you’re my lifeline at this school. I’m glad you told me. I know that has to mean something about where you’re at, and while it hurt a _lot_ , I know you. And if you’re willing to talk about what happened, and why, and if we can make sure it doesn’t happen again, I think it might work.”

I’d started to cry again, but I didn’t try to wipe the tears away, just let them fall. “You’re a better person than any of the rest of us, you know that?”

He closed his eyes, smile bittersweet. “Maybe.”

He reached for me just as I reached for him, and I collapsed on his chest. This moment felt better and more real than anything that had happened last night: my face pressed against his shoulder, his arms around me, squeezing tight. _This_ felt like I had Oliver back.

His arms loosened, and he stepped back. “So you’ll try with me, then?”

I nodded.

“All I ask for is complete honesty. You owe me that, at least.”

I swallowed and nodded again. “I can do that.”

-

The rest of the morning felt like killing time. I walked with a lighter step than I had in months, and Oliver and I walked in a long loop around the castle, taking care to peer in empty classrooms as we went, catching up on everything we’d missed in each other’s lives in the last several months. As relieved as I was, a Hannah-shaped thought worried away in the back of my mind. I kept thinking that she would be just around a corner, but she wasn’t. Maybe she had been drinking too much and was passed out somewhere.

Even then the theory felt implausible.

The school was entirely too large to canvas on our own, but we covered good ground, and by the time it was lunchtime we had looking in every probably place we could think of, and more importantly, in my opinion, something had settled between us, into an easy, familiar rhythm. Buoyant with my impossible luck, relieved that the truth was out, I found myself glancing at Oliver frequently out of the corner of my eye, worried that he might disappear, or that I might find myself in a dream.

When we arrived back at the dining hall, the rest of the group, minus Cecily, was already sitting at the table.

Audra sat with her hands wrapped around her mug, staring absently at the wall, her face void of emotion. She really looked terrible, I thought, as I settled at the table with my bowl of soup. Oliver sat next to me; his knee pressed up against mine.

“At least it’s over now,” Colin was saying to Gabriel, voice grim, but Gabriel wasn’t looking at him, his gaze focused on Audra. “We don’t have to think about it again.”

Gabriel looked exhausted, I thought. I wondered if he’d slept at all the night before. Come to think of it, all three of them looked terrible. Audra, bedraggled, Gabriel, weary, Colin, subtly vacant.

“Think about what?” Oliver leaned across the table for the salt and pepper.

“The production.” Colin shot him a sideways glance, looking a little annoyed. “Obviously. What else would I be talking about?”

Gabriel reached out and put his hand on Audra’s shoulder. She jerked back to presence. “What?”

“You alright?”

She turned on him with such a vicious expression that I thought I could nearly feel the air turn to ice around her.

“Of course,” She hissed between clenched teeth, “I’m _not okay._ ” Without another word, she stood up and stalked down along the long row of tables towards the door.

We watched her leave, unmoving, as she tugged the door open and let it slam behind her.

Gabriel looked slightly alarmed but not surprised, turning to look at the table and rubbing his temples with his fingers.

“She’s not taking the loss of the lead well, then?” I clinked my spoon on the side of my soup bowl.

Gabriel looked up at me, his gaze laser focused, eyes an icy blue in the bright light streaming from the windows. “No. She isn’t.”

“You sorted things out between you, then?” Colin asked the question in such a careless way that it wasn’t careless at all.

I watched him, wondering how Colin usually was so observant, wishing, not for the first time, that I had such abilities. Would I have noticed before he told me his secret? Now that I knew, I couldn’t _unknow_ it. Underneath his great effort not to be, Colin was as transparent as tissue paper.

His eyes tracked Gabriel’s face as he looked over to the door where Audra had left. “I think so.” He shook his head and began twisting a paper napkin between his fingers. “I thought so last night, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Colin said, and busied himself with grinding pepper into his soup.

“She was really angry with me.” Gabriel said. “And I still don’t really know why.”

If it were possible, I thought that my eyes might bore a hole in his head.

Was it possible that he didn’t know Audra knew he’d been unfaithful? I thought about the slap, the crack Audra’s palm had made on contact with his face. I felt like I was missing something. Would she be that furious with him over just that?

I looked over at Oliver. If I found out he’d slept with Audra, I would have been hurt – angry – but I didn’t think I’d slap him over it.

“How’s your face?” I asked Gabriel.

A little absently, he raised his hand to the bridge of his nose, the tips of his fingers ghosting over a spot that looked a little tender. Somehow the gesture invited intimacy, as though I was observing Gabriel in a moment he did not want to be observed. “It’s fine.”

“That was a good one.” Colin pointed out. “Get her that angry again and she just might kill you.”

Gabriel frowned at him, though it had clearly been in jest. “Maybe.”

His mind was still somewhere else, I could see.

“You should probably ice it.” Oliver said. “Or you’ll have a nasty bruise.”

“No show to hide it for.” Gabriel shrugged.

Privately, I thought that he might be wanting evidence of an altercation. Gabriel was just like that. I remembered in second year, he’d gotten into a fight with a third year over something small, Audra, maybe, and had purposely brushed his hair back over his eyes in the days following to show off his shiner.

“You said you don’t know why she was mad?” Colin asked, but he didn’t look at Gabriel, instead his gaze was focused outside at the snow-capped trees.

Gabriel looked at him sharply. “Do you?”

Colin’s face did not move. I watched his eyes follow the flight of a raven past the window. The stillness in his face was rehearsed. “No.”

Oliver glanced at me, I saw out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps he was putting things together as well.

I had a feeling that both Colin and Gabriel were hiding something. Maybe it was the same thing, and both of them were dancing around it to find out how much the other knew.

“Have either of you seen Hannah?” Oliver asked, and there was the slightest flash in Colin’s eyes, nearly imperceptible.

“I haven’t.” He said lightly. “I’m taking it that you haven’t either?”

I shook my head. “We looked around a bit, but she doesn’t seem to be around. Not in the main building.”

Gabriel was watching me talk with a level of interest that I found slightly uncomfortable. “What, you mean she never showed up after the cast list went up?”

I met his gaze. There was something there, unspoken. It was a discomfiting feeling. “No. She never did.”

He looked away, pinched the bridge of his nose, then winced. “That’s odd.”

“It is.” I was still watching him. “Where did you and Audra go after you saw the cast list?”

Gabriel sighed, but he did not meet my eyes. “Damage control. I mean, you saw just now. She isn’t exactly happy.”

“I didn’t imagine she would be.” Colin said, still not looking at Gabriel.

I noticed that Gabriel hadn’t answered my question.

He sighed heavily. “I’d better go find her. Don’t want her to be alone, not right now.” He met Oliver’s inquisitive stare. “She’ll spiral.”

He left his uneaten soup where it sat and strode to the door after her.

Colin looked at him now, watched his back as the door closed in front of it. He let out a long exhale and sat back in his chair. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be them.”

The three of us spent the afternoon playing cards together in the library, a little too quiet, a little too somber. Around 3 o’clock Dr. Davis found us and told us that the phone lines were down, and not to expect any communication with anyone in the village. We already knew this – of course they would be, with this kind of snow – but there seemed to be some kind of intensity to her words, and she left the library in silence. I wondered if there was subtext to this, whether or not she was trying to say that we shouldn’t worry about Hannah.

It was a murky sort of day. I wonder now how I could have been so carefree. Wasn’t it clear to me, even then? Wasn’t it obvious?

I think all three of us were just waiting for Hannah to burst into the room, to let us know that she’d practically slept the day away and that of course she was fine, that it was foolish of us to worry. But as the hours slipped by, the glimmer of hope I had felt was slowly extinguished, and it was with a dismal kind of anxiety that I followed Oliver and Colin down to dinner.

To my surprise, the dining centre was crowded. After I thought about it for a second though, it became obvious. Of course all travel plans in and out of Conolly were cancelled. If the phone lines were down, and the road hadn’t yet been plowed, of course there would be no one leaving the school. The sight of so many more bodies than I had been expecting filled me with panic. No one could leave. No one could come up. Even though I hadn’t been planning to do either, the idea that I couldn’t seemed somehow terrible to me. What if there was some kind of emergency?

A little voice in my head spoke with some urgency. _What if the emergency already happened?_

There was a muted murmur in the dining hall, but not the usual clamour that accompanied the dinner rush. It must have been the effect of all the snow, I thought. It made the world outside quiet, but it also silenced the world within.

The three of us ate in silence. Colin asked no questions when Oliver held my hand, and I was somewhat grateful for this. It was all so new that I wasn’t sure if I was capable of dealing with any outside scrutiny.

That evening, Cecily made an appearance. “Hannah’s not in the castle.” She said with barely a ghost of a voice.

The three of us looked up from the couch in front of the fire in the common room. Colin had been bouncing a rubber ball against the wall, but at Cecily’s words he let the ball careen towards the window, where it cut a clean arc through the air and landed at her feet.

She looked terrible, as though she hadn’t slept in days. It occurred to me that maybe she hadn’t. “She isn’t here.”

“You’ve looked everywhere?” I asked her incredulously.

She nodded, but it was a jerky movement, like an animatronic version of herself. “Everywhere that was unlocked.”

“Have you stopped for anything? Food?”

She shook her head.

“Cecily.”

She looked like she might pass out. “She isn’t here.”

“Phone lines are down.” Colin noted. He got up to retrieve the rubber ball. In the fluorescent light it glinted yellow. “Davis told us.”

Cecily nodded, but it did not look like she was quite registering what he was saying.

“She might be in town.” I clarified.

Cecily shook her head. “She isn’t.”

“How do you know that?” Oliver asked her.

A frown line appeared between Cecily’s eyebrows. “I guess I don’t.” She took a shaky breath in. “I was supposed to meet with her after the performance but she never showed.”

Oliver frowned. “You were meeting with her? What about?”

I realized that he was the only person in the room with no idea that anything at all had transpired between the two of them.

She shrugged. “Just to talk.”

Oliver looked a little nonplussed by this, but shook his head and didn’t ask any more questions. “And she didn’t show?”

Cecily swallowed. Her right hand was trembling, a wounded butterfly. “No. She never did.”

“Maybe she got caught up with family.” I was aware that I was trying to invert an impossible situation, but I couldn’t stop scrambling to make things sound better.

“Maybe so.” Colin was turning the ball over in his long fingers, looking at it with a studious attention that surely meant his thoughts were elsewhere. “Or maybe,” he didn’t look up as he spoke, “this is the part where we worry.”


	21. 19.

Colin burst into the library the next morning with such an urgency that I shot straight up, books tumbling to the ground. “Phone lines are back up.”

“What?”

Oliver skidded to a halt behind him. At the look on my face, he shook his head. “We already called. She isn’t in town.”

I sank slowly back into my seat. I hadn’t been aware of how much I was staking on Hannah being in town. “She’s not with her parents, or she’s not anywhere?”

Colin looked like he was sucking on something sour. “Not anywhere, so far.”

“That’s not possible.” I said, but my voice wavered. “She can’t be _nowhere_.”

My words felt like an omen. They hung there in the air, the implication of them only real once they’d been spoken aloud.

There was a sound like a cough in the doorway.

Audra stood there, looking uncertain, voice very small. “She’s not in town? Then where is she?”

“That seems to be the problem, doesn’t it?” There was a cool note of frustration to Colin’s tone. “We don’t know.”

Gabriel appeared in the doorway behind Audra. When she noticed him there, she jumped as though he’d startled her, and took several faltering steps into the room.

“We can’t just _not_ know.” She said, and put a finger to her temple. “Nobody has any idea?”

Her gaze around the room was searching.

I shook my head. “Cecily looked everywhere. I don’t know where else we could even try. There’s only the castle and the town, right?”

Once again, my words implied more than I had meant them to. I was beginning to understand that something awful might really have happened to Hannah.

“I’m sure she’s alright.” Gabriel said, but something about the tensed muscle in his jaw revealed that he really didn’t think so.

Here was the thing: Hannah was gone. It was an ugly truth, and we were beginning to understand it by then, but it wasn’t something we could vocalize except through private, wordless conservation exchanged only through eye contact.

This was the sort of thing that didn’t happen.

I had never known a dead girl before.

 _Missing_. I had to remind myself that this was the truth. Not dead. Yet.

My thoughts began to unravel. What had happened that night? An accident? I couldn’t let myself consider any other option, but it sat there anyway, lurking.

Maybe, just maybe, she had left on purpose. I weighed the possibilities like heavy paperweights. She had heard from a long-lost lover and run away to be with him. She had given up on opera and left all of her possessions behind. She was frozen somewhere under eight feet of snow.

That’s what it was, now. It had finally stopped snowing, and Colin had told us that the custodian had measured. Eight feet. Cecily had begun talking statistics at once. It was possible that if Hannah had just gotten lost, and was smart enough, she might be okay, just trapped somewhere.

 _Three days._ A little voice in my head whispered. _Three days is a long time._

“I’m going to the police.” Oliver stood up suddenly. “I don’t know why the faculty hasn’t yet.”

As it turned out, they had.

In the entrance hall, Dr. Davis was standing with her hands on her hips, speaking with two uniformed officers.

From this distance it was impossible to hear what she was saying. When she heard the clatter of five pairs of footsteps on the stairs, she held a hand up without turning.

We all halted, but I felt my feet itch with the desire to creep closer and listen.

Her voice was quiet, urgent. None of us spoke, all straining to catch her words.

There was a man and a woman, both in uniform. The man had close cut dark hair, cutting an impressive figure next to petite Dr. Davis. He reminded me a bit of Gabriel actually, if he’d chosen a different career path and spent more hours in a gym. The woman next to him held a clipboard and watched Dr. Davis intently.

“What’s going on here?” Dr. Rutledge’s booming voice echoed off of the stone walls as he strode toward Dr. Davis. “Lyla? Why are the police here?”

Both officers bristled.

Dr. Davis jerked her head toward us, and when Dr. Rutledge looked up and saw us all standing there, he frowned. “What’s all this about, then?”

Dr. Davis spoke in hushed tones. As Dr. Rutledge listened, his scowl deepened. He made no effort to lower his voice or conceal his aggravation. “Hannah? Flighty girl. Probably ran off.”

Oliver and I exchanged a glance. He mouthed, “ _Ran off?”_

I shook my head.

Dr. Davis hissed something, and Dr. Rutledge finally lowered his voice.

The officers were asking questions. I could hear the woman’s voice as she jotted down notes on the clipboard, but the words themselves were indistinct.

Colin fidgeted with the buttons on his shirtsleeves, eyes focused on Dr. Rutledge.

I tried to see what he was looking for. I still have the habit learned from those weeks, an intentional scrutinization of my surroundings, the way Colin always did. Sometimes I feel as though many of my present-day habits were forged in the weeks following Hannah’s disappearance. I still stop to observe people in a way that most find uncanny. I can’t help it. If I learned anything at all in my last year at Conolly, it’s that it’s impossible to rely entirely on my own intuition when it comes to the people I think I know.

Colin was watching for _something_ , but I couldn’t figure out what.

Rutledge listened to the police, occasionally gesturing with his hands in apparent irritation. He rubbed at his beard his chin when the male officer began to speak. The officer gestured behind him to the door. His voice carried, and I could hear the question clearly. “Do you have any maps of the grounds? It will help immensely in our preliminary search.”

Beside me, Audra began to tremble.

“They think she’s…” Gabriel’s voice was strained. “Out there?”

I allowed myself to imagine it. More correctly, the image came unbidden, but for the first time I didn’t immediately shove it away.

My first and only, completely unexpected thought was, _Hannah would make a beautiful corpse._

We stood there for an unbearably long time, but eventually the officers nodded, and shook hands with Dr. Davis. Rutledge didn’t offer his hand.

As the officers left through the front doors, Dr. Davis gestured for us to come down, though it looked as though she did so rather begrudgingly. Rutledge muttered something towards her and then stalked out of the room.

“So, you’ve heard.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What?” Oliver spoke first. “There’s news?”

“This is what I can tell you: Hannah failed to return to her dormitory after the performance on Saturday night, and we’ve just received notice that she doesn’t appear to be in town.”

We must have appeared especially stricken, because she gave a long exhale. “There’s no reason to assume that she is in any kind of danger. Don’t work yourselves up over it.”

“Don’t work ourselves up over it?” Audra’s voice was high and thin. “Don’t _work ourselves up over it_?”

Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder, but she wriggled away.

“What are we supposed to do, then?” There was something unnerving in her tone, and when she had asked her question she broke off into a reedy laugh, wrapping her arms around herself.

Dr. Davis looked at her sternly.

I realized that this was the first time I had ever heard Audra object to a professor’s instructions.

“Miss Daly.” There was a crisp professional aspect to her tone that I hadn’t heard in a long time. “I expect you to congratulate yourself on a decent performance and make preparations for the coming semester.”

The emphasis on the word ‘decent’ was as cutting a remark as could have been said.

Audra stared back at her, eyes fierce.

“Next semester will be your most difficult yet, and if you’re going to let the slight absence of one of your peers affect you this much, I’d suggest you reconsider your coping mechanisms.” The frost in Dr. Davis’ voice was a tangible thing.

“ _Slight_?” The word was shrill. Audra had taken a step towards her.

Dr. Davis took another step up the staircase. “Miss Frazier has been gone for less than forty-eight hours, as the officers pointed out to me just now. There is no reason to be alarmed.”

“No reason?” Now it was Colin speaking. He had his hands crossed over his arms, but I noticed he was still carrying the yellow rubber ball from the night before. “There’s eight feet of snow and Hannah disappeared the night it started. I’d say there’s plenty of reason to be alarmed.”

Dr. Davis fixed her gaze on him. “Don’t add unnecessary fuel to the fire, Mr. Thorpe. Make no mistake, I am concerned. Of course I am. But we can’t jump to any conclusions.” Then she shook her hands, shooing us. “Get out of here. Try to think about something else.” She laughed, the sound an uncharacteristically derisive snort. “Research _La Sonnambula_ , for god’s sake.”

Then she turned around and walked away across the hall.

The walk back to the dormitories was a quiet one. No sooner had we all made it into the common room than Gabriel surprised us with a decisive statement.

“I’m staying.”

Colin collapsed into the nearest chair, offering nothing more in response than a grunt of acknowledgement.

“You’re _what?”_ Audra looked up.

She looked almost angry, but Gabriel either didn’t notice or pretended that he didn’t. “I’m not leaving. Not like this, in the middle of…”

“Neither am I.”

We all looked up.

Cecily was standing just behind us, outside of the doorway. She had showered, and at last her face was clear of the stage makeup, her curls coiled and wet around her face. She looked ten years younger. Afraid.

“You’re not going back to Ontario?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “Would you?”

I realized that I hadn’t given a spare thought to what I was going to do, lost in the mishmash of concerns over the last two days. I sat down on the couch, slowly, trying to think about the possible options.

Oliver was watching me, I knew.

Cecily walked over and sat on the arm of Colin’s chair. “What if they don’t find her?”

Gabriel shook his head. “They’ll find her.”

“ _Why_ do you sound so certain?” Colin groaned, then pressed his fingers into the sockets of his eyes.

Gabriel had gone very still, looking at Colin with a sharp, watchful stare. “What are you implying?”

Colin sighed. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing to me.”

Colin lowered his hands, staring at Gabriel. “I’m not implying anything.”

There was a tense moment as they watched each other. I was reminded, not for the first time, either, of two big cats, circling one another, waiting for the other to pounce.

Then Gabriel looked away, out the window, and the illusion was shattered.

“So we’re all staying then?” Oliver was looking from Gabriel to Colin as though he wasn’t sure quite what was going on. “Until we find out what’s going on?”

There was a collective murmur of agreement, and both Cecily and Gabriel left the room, presumably to call their families.

Audra, in the weak afternoon light, looked miserable. I tried to imagine what she must be feeling. First, she had discovered that her boyfriend of nearly two years had cheated on her, then she had lost the coveted position she had been staking everything on for so long, and almost immediately after, the person she had lost it to had disappeared.

Just thinking about it made my stomach twist.

“What _are_ you going to do?” Oliver scooted down the couch so that he was next to me. “Over Christmas. Have you given it any thought at all?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Considering…” I sighed. “I can’t imagine leaving without knowing.”

“Neither can I.” He took a deep breath, “If we find her, though?”

I looked at him. “Alive?”

Something was deeply unsettling about the thought.

He looked across the room. “Either way.”

I thought for a moment, then said with what I hoped was some finality, “Those are two very different options.”

-

That night, there was a knock on our door. Cecily looked up, the hope in her face a heartbreak waiting to happen.

When I opened the door, it was Audra standing on the sill.

Cecily lowered her gaze back down to the bedspread.

Audra was shivering, which wasn’t unusual, because Conolly was always cold, but was strange because she was wearing what appeared to be three sweaters. Her teeth were chattering.

“I can’t get warm.” She said, and then the real truth came tumbling out. “It’s awful in there without her.”

Without speaking, Cecily got up and left the room, sidestepping Audra standing there.

I beckoned her in. “God. I’m sorry about Cecily.”

She shook her head. “That’s alright.”

I beckoned her into the room, and she sat gingerly on the edge of my bed.

As it turned out, I shouldn’t have apologized for her, because Cecily reappeared within moments, dragging – with some apparent effort – Audra’s mattress, the sheet set and duvet still on it.

I sprang up from where I sat on my bed, helping her guide it in through the narrow doorframe. Cecily let it fall squarely in the middle of the floor, kicked it straight with her foot, then moved to sit back down on her bed.

Audra burst into tears.

I hadn’t been expecting this in the slightest, and so after a second of stunned silence, I crossed the room, retrieved a tissue, and patted her on the shoulder, feeling a little bit awkward.

She accepted the tissue but just let it hang at her side.

“Audra?” There was a tentative knock on the door. Gabriel’s voice was even more tentative. “Are you in there?”

Audra swiped at her face and stood. “Yes.”

“Come on.” He said, and cracked the door open slightly. His eyes shone in the dark. “I can’t sleep. You?”

He saw the mattress on the floor, and I saw a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion cross his face.

Audra shook her head haltingly.

“Let’s walk.”

I heard Cecily whisper, so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear her, “You don’t have to go.”

Audra twitched a little bit, but her legs were already carrying her away, stepping on and over the mattress in her sock feet. She opened the door and slipped out without another word.

“What’s that all about?” I asked Cecily once several seconds had passed and I was fairly certain they were out of earshot. “Why did you tell her she didn’t have to?”

Cecily’s reply was simple. “I was getting worried that it was an obligation, to her. The whole thing with Gabriel.”

“Their relationship?”

She shrugged. “Yes.”

“You don’t think…” I was struck by a thought. “You don’t think he’s controlling her somehow, do you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. I don’t think that’s it.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “besides, it’s Audra. She couldn’t be controlled no matter how hard you tried.”

She flicked her bedside lamp off and lay down on her bed, her movements as decisive as her speech. She grabbed her pillow and held it to her chest.

Her statement had left a metallic taste in my mouth, and I just watched her for several long moments.

The truth of the situation was in the air, but neither of us wanted to say it.

It was the beginning of the end.


	22. 20.

Audra didn’t come back until long after I was asleep, and I was partially surprised to see her on the floor next to my bed when I woke up. She looked, for the first time in several long weeks, at peace.

I had the thought, briefly, that she looked like she was dead, but then her shoulders shifted with her breath, her hair floating out in front of her mouth with every exhale. This was Audra at her most undignified, and I had never seen it. I had never, not once in three years, seen Audra asleep. The sight was foreign and a little bit awful. I looked away.

That day was terrible.

So was the day afterwards. That week was a muddle of horrible emotions marked by awful situations.

Hannah did not turn up. I hadn’t been expecting her to. Still, every hour marked by her absence made the situation worse. I began to check the weather forecast obsessively, hoping for a change in the temperature, a sudden thaw, but every day it continued to snow just a little bit more.

The six of us in that castle with nothing to do was the worst possible combination. I was an agitated mess, stuck in my own skin, desperate for fresh air or wind on my face, spending hours pacing the corridors in the castle, wishing that Oliver would join me, and when he did, wishing he was gone. Our interactions hadn’t been _bad_ , but my confession had, of course, drawn a wedge between us that only felt more magnified by the current circumstances. That night under the stage lights seemed like years ago.

Oliver too, seemed agitated, but his anxiety manifested in an obsessive need to observe. He and Colin could have turned it into a competition, two sets of watchful eyes tracking every move, marking down every word and storing it for later. I hadn’t the faintest idea what exactly they were looking for, and I honestly doubt that they were cognisant of it themselves, but they persisted with a raw intensity that I was immensely jealous of.

I had nothing to do except worry. I hadn’t had nothing to do in weeks, months even, and I found myself at a loss. It was surprising then, that the days passed as they did, blurry memories of other days, hazy now to my memory. Mornings melted into afternoons, slid into murky evenings. The nights were the worst.

Audra slept on the floor, though I wasn’t sure I could call it sleeping. On the nights when the moon was bright, if I looked over at her – which I didn’t often have any desire to do – her eyes were glassy reflections, open far past midnight, far past when I finally succumbed to sleep. I wished that Oliver was close, but then when I thoroughly considered it, I wasn’t sure that I really did. His presence was as vexing as it was soothing, a constant reminder of my own failure to confront myself.

We slept in every morning as late as it was possible to. That was the terrible thing about waiting. It never takes a moment to rest, it stretches over everything. And if you do forget about what you were worrying about, however briefly, the guilt that follows is nearly overwhelming.

On Tuesday, the two officers returned to the castle, and this time, Dr. Davis led them to the dormitories.

Audra was the only one invited in, but this was only to ensure that she could collect a few of her belongings in order to stay out of their way should they need to stay in Hannah’s room for any unusual length of time. They put up yellow tape across the door that read ‘police line, do not cross’ in angry bold type. It seemed like a toy, something that you might buy just before Halloween. I had to remind myself as I stood there, looking at it, that this was really happening.

The officers spent a long time in her room with the door closed. I wondered what exactly that they were looking for. I knew the room wouldn’t be what was expected from a typical university student. Both Audra and Hannah were neat to a fault.

When they left, they were carrying several black plastic bags that didn’t look heavy. They acknowledged me with a slight nod of the head as they left the room.

Wednesday afternoon brought the first official notice that something was wrong. We didn’t need a meeting with the faculty to know that it was true, but in some way it helped.

Dr. Davis’s office was small, with cinderblock walls. She was my academic advisor, so I had been inside the room many times before, but with all six of us and four professors all jammed inside of it, it looked different. I was only halfway surprised to see Dr. Rutledge, though the presence of the principle couldn’t mean anything good. Dr. Blackburn and Dr. Ritter stood on either side of him, their faces unreadable.

Dr. Davis shut the door. The fluorescent light was weak, and it left me with the impression that I had to strain my eyes to see, even though every face in the room was distinctly visible.

I thought for a bleak, stretched out, bottomless minute that she was about to tell us that they had found a body, but the expressions on the other teacher’s face, though grim, did not tell that kind of tale.

“We thought it would be best to meet as a group.” Dr. Davis spoke clearly, then looked to Dr. Rutledge, who nodded. “Clearly, Miss Frazier has not been present among us for several days.”

What a strange way to phrase things, I thought. It was indeed obvious that she hadn’t been present with us, but I thought the statement belayed the more obvious fact: that she was somewhere else.

“I have received word,” Dr. Davis cleared her throat, “That she has officially been declared a missing person.”

There was a general exhale of relief in the room. Apparently, I had not been the only one worried about what information this meeting would present us with.

“As her closest peers, the detectives on the case have informed me that they will be interviewing each of you separately.” She crossed her arms as she surveyed us. “I don’t think I have to tell you to speak truthfully.”

Audra’s voice was harsh. “What are you suggesting it is that we have to tell them?”

I saw Gabriel place a firm hand on her arm, without ever looking away from Dr. Davis. Audra relaxed slightly back into the chair.

Dr. Davis’s voice was cool when she spoke. “Nothing at all. I am merely encouraging you not to hold back. The detectives were clear that any information is helpful when considering a missing person’s case.”

There was a stretchy silence after she said this.

“The detectives will be coming up to the school tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” Colin’s voice was uncharacteristically squeaky. “Why are they waiting so long to do anything?”

Dr. Davis leaned forward on her desk. “Do you have a reason to suspect that Miss Frazier is in immediate danger?”

Colin’s eyebrows were the only part of his face that moved, two exclamation points that showed his disdain for the question. “So they’re taking this as a runaway case.”

Dr. Davis made a sound of frustration. “You have nothing to base that on.”

If Dr. Rutledge hadn’t made a sound then, redirecting the conversation, I could have guessed how Colin would answer that. _Only everything._

“We are not at liberty to give you any more information pertaining to the case.” He said with the dry authority his voice always carried. “Only that you should not concern yourself badly with Miss Frazier’s disappearance.”

There was a general outburst of dismay which was cowed by a sharp raise of the eyebrow from Dr. Rutledge.

I wondered what it was like to have that kind of power, enough to silence a whole room with the slightest movement.

“How are we supposed to just ignore that she’s gone?” Oliver was the one to speak this time. “For all we know she _is_ in danger.”

“I never said ignore, Mr. Gray.” Dr. Rutledge looked at him rather coolly. “Never ignore the plight of a friend in need. I said that you should not concern yourselves with it. Unless one of you is responsible for Hannah’s disappearance,” At this his eyes swept each of us individually, “then your energy is wasted worrying.”

I wondered what he saw in my eyes. Would he find guilt there, though there was none? I had always wondered this about Dr. Rutledge. With his scouring gaze, did he find what he was looking for even when it wasn’t there?

-

The knowledge that we were going to be interviewed haunted us. Nobody spoke at dinner, and in the evening after several half-hearted attempts at a card game, we retired early, each of us to our own prison of thoughts.

The interviews were to take place in one of the empty classrooms on the second floor, we found out.

“Why are they coming all of the way out here?” Colin wanted to know as we made our way up. “Why not bring us down?”

“Easier for two detectives to come up than to ship all of us down the mountain.” Oliver mused. “Or maybe there’s something else they’ve come up for.”

Audra stopped walking. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

Audra began walking only when Gabriel put a hand on her back to propel her forward.

“You look nervous.” He said. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

She shot him a glance. There was something there, another unspoken conversation that I was not privy to as anything more than an observer.

The detectives, as it turned out, were different people than the two officers we had seen in the entry way. I wasn’t sure why I had assumed that we would be speaking with the two of them, but the sight of two men in slacks and button up shirts was jarring. I only saw just a brief glimpse of their faces, before one of them pushed the door shut with his foot.

The six of us looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. I was about to speak, when the door re-opened, and a dark-haired young man stepped out.

Upon seeing us all standing there, he frowned. “Is there a room nearby you all could wait in, so you don’t all have to stand outside in the hall?” His voice had a pleasant accent, like he was from the north of the province. He smiled apologetically at Dr. Davis, who sprang to action immediately. She fumbled in her pockets for some keys and opened a spare room, her eyebrows a question for the detective to answer.

He peered into the room, flicked on the lights, and nodded.

Once we had all filed into the room, he stopped in the doorframe to address Dr. Davis. “I’d like to speak with the six of them alone just for a moment, if that’s alright with you.”

I tried to gauge how old he was. Twenty-five? Thirty? However old he was, it was much younger than I had expected a detective to be.

Dr. Davis nodded her assent, and he closed the door behind him as he turned to face us.

I looked to Audra, who was watching the detective with a puzzled expression. She saw me looking and quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m Matthias.” He placed his palm on his chest, fingers splayed wide. His dark hair curled just at the edges, a little like Oliver’s did when it was wet. “Matthias Whitley. I’ve been assigned to Ms. Frazier’s case. You’ll meet my partner, Tahlia Everett, when you come in for the interview. I’m sure you’ve been told this, but we’ve called you up here to be interviewed about Ms. Frazier’s disappearance.”

“Hannah.” Cecily said, and at first, I couldn’t tell what she meant, but then I saw her glower and it clicked into place. “She’s not a Ms.”

Matthias looked a little taken aback but nodded. “Right, then. About Hannah’s disappearance. I think we’ll do the interviews one at a time, and I’ll have to ask that after we’ve finished asking questions that you don’t come back here until everyone has had a chance to be questioned.”

I looked at Colin, but he was looking towards Gabriel. Oliver caught my eye.

Matthias was looking around the room. “You’re all in the same year as Ms –” he glanced at Cecily “– Hannah, right?”

The was a murmur of assent.

“And this is all of you? Only six?”

“There’s usually only six.” Audra spoke with more confidence than it looked like she had. “Hannah was an exception.”

It surprised me that I didn’t know this, but then, as I thought about it, it gone without saying. Hannah had been an exception to the general rule from the beginning. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would be allowed to parachute into a program halfway through the winter semester of the second year.

“Funny way to run a school.” Matthias ran his fingers through his hair, then shrugged. “Any takers to go first?”

The silence in the room was oppressive. I wondered whether his casual attitude was a tactic.

“All right then.” Matthias took a folded-up piece of paper out of his back pocket and surveyed it for a moment. “Mr. Grey?”

Oliver nodded, and stood up. “That’s me.”

“If you’ll follow me into the next room.” Matthias let Oliver go first, then exited after him.

“Jesus.” Colin said as soon as the door closed, and dragged at the skin beneath his eyes. “ _Jesus._ ”

It was like auditions or juries all over again, but this time there was a different kind of tense energy in the air. This time we weren’t waiting to be judged, we were waiting to be excised.

It felt like a long time before Matthias came back to the room. When he saw us all sitting there in silence, he let out a kind of surprised laugh. It was the sort of laugh that meant his professional mask slipped ever so slightly, and we got to see the kind of person he really was. “You’re a sober bunch, aren’t you?”

Cecily’s voice was pointed like the prong of a fork. “Our friend is _missing_.”

He didn’t seem to know what else to say to this, so instead he just consulted the piece of paper. “Mr. Thorpe?”

Colin stood up, cast me a dubious glance, and followed Matthias out of the room.

I wondered how Oliver’s interview had gone. I wondered what kind of questions they were asking.

Cecily was next. After that, it seemed to speed up. Though my watch told me that Cecily had been in the questioning room for fifteen minutes, it felt like less than five when Audra was called in.

It was just Gabriel and I left in the room. The two of us hadn’t been alone together since the night of the gala, when it had all started to go wrong.

“Does Audra know?” I asked.

He stared at me.

I hadn’t meant to ask the question; it had just happened. I had the thought and then the next second the words were already in the air.

“Know… what?”

I sighed. He was going to play dumb. Alright, well I wasn’t. “About us.”

“Oh.” He rubbed at his chin, over the kind of five o’clock shadow that he seemed to have no matter what time of day it was. “Yes. But not that it was you.”

“You told her?” It was a test, and maybe he knew that, because he looked at me in a way that said that he was testing me too.

“No.”

“Hannah did.” I told him.

He didn’t look surprised. “I thought so.”

“Audra thought it was Hannah. Hannah didn’t tell her it was me.”

Gabriel considered this, then sighed heavily. “Well, that was very noble of her.”

There were several more moments of silence, then I realized that I had a second question. “Gabriel?”

“What?”

An awful thought had occurred to me. “Do you know what happened to Hannah?”

He shot me an annoyed sideways glance. “Why would you even ask me that? Of course I don’t.”

“I’m just – it feels awful to wonder.” I didn’t ask the second half of my question, because it seemed too terrible to vocalize, here, now, in this dingy classroom.

He was silent for several seconds. “It does.”

Matthias appeared at the window of the door, opened it. “Mrs. Woodley?” He no longer had to look at the list, which was now crumpled in his palm. 

I stood up. My feet felt numb. My hands felt numb. I felt suddenly very guilty, as though I knew something and was planning to fib my way through the interview.

 _Breath, Leah._ I told myself. _Just breath. Tell the truth and only the truth._

Matthias opened the door to the room, gestured my through it.

The desks in the classroom had been pushed to the side, the chairs stacked neatly. A plastic table had been constructed and sat in the middle of the room.

I had thought there were two men in the room, but the person sitting at the desk sported a long dark braid that divided her back into two halves, and had long slender fingers that were currently scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

There was a third man, I realized, when I sat down in the chair. This must have been who I had seen from the hallway. He was configuring something with a video camera that had been mounted on a large tripod.

“Are we being filmed?” I asked Matthias.

The man behind the camera grinned, but it was a sharp smile, full of teeth. “Not for public consumption.”

“August.” The woman at the desk finally looked up. Her skin was nearly as dark as her eyes, which were shockingly dark. “For Christ’s sake. Don’t freak her out.”

She stood up, and addressed me, reaching her hand across the table, which I took. “Tahlia Everett, leading detective.”

She had a firm grip. Both she and Matthias were startlingly young, but her slight frame made her look even younger.

I wondered, a little annoyed, if they had sent the detectives with the least amount of experience. “Leah Woodley.” I nodded.

She gestured to the chair opposite her.

Matthias came around to sit at the chair beside hers and crossed his arms across his chest.

“We have a few questions for you.” Ms. Everett spoke clearly and confidently. “Just the basics, to start.”

As it turned out, the basics were quite in depth.

“State your name and date of birth.”

“Leah Woodley, May second, nineteen sixty-seven.”

“How long have you been a student at Conolly?”

“Two and a half years.”

“How long have you known Hannah?”

“Nine months.”

“I understand Hannah came to the school under special circumstances. What can you tell me about that?”

“She got accepted partway through the semester. I guess the faculty thought she was really great. Which she is. I don’t really know the specifics.”

“In the time you have known her, has she ever exhibited behaviour to make you think she would want to leave Conolly?”

I had to consider this one for a moment. “What kind of behavior would that be?”

“Talking about leaving, talking about being somewhere else, disappearing in to town without saying anything to anyone, that sort of thing.”

“No. Honestly, I think Hannah loved it here.”

That was a stretch. Nobody loved it at Conolly. We loved what we _produced_ from being at Conolly.

“Have you ever had any arguments or physical altercations with Hannah?”

“No. She’s not the fighting type.”

Detective Everett pursed her lips, and Matthias scooted the legal pad across the table, writing down a note that didn’t look long enough to be a transcription of my words, but was indistinguishable from this distance.

I wanted to ask if I had said something wrong, but Matthias was already speaking.

“Do you have any concerns about any of your classmates and Hannah?” He was, I noticed, reading the question from Everett’s notes.

“Like what?”

He shrugged and fixed me with a steady look. “Have you ever witnessed any arguments between Hannah and a different classmate, or do you happen to know if anyone would have any reason to be angry with her?”

“Angry enough to hurt her?” My voice was trembling. I swallowed hard.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m just asking about the small things. Was Hannah on anybody’s bad side?”

I thought of Audra.

I said, “No.”

He folded his arms.

My heart was tapping in my throat, and I was beginning to feel a little dizzy.

“Are you alright, Miss Woodley?” Detective Everett asked.

I blinked rapidly. “I’m fine.”

The two of them surveyed me for a moment, then Detective Everett looked back down at her list. “Would you say Hannah was content? How would you describe her mental state?”

I had to force myself to concentrate. “Um. Content? Yeah, I’d say so. She’s always been the most stable out of any of us, I think.”

“Stable, how?”

“She’s always the one that seems to have her head on straight, you know?” I took a moment to breathe, let oxygen circulate to my brain. “Conolly is a hard school. Especially third year. She didn’t seem bothered by it, though.”

I’d never really paid attention to her stability, but now that I was vocalizing it, it became apparent how true it was. “She was always the one we’d turn to if we needed help for something, you know?” I realized that I was speaking about her in the past tense, and choked on a sob. “Sorry. Just.”

Matthias nodded for me to continue.

“We’d all always have our things, little issues, or whatever, and we couldn’t seem to make it better. But she could. She always seemed to be above it all.”

Detective Everett cleared her throat. “Did it ever seem as though Hannah had no one to turn to when she had her own personal problems?”

“Hannah didn’t really have personal problems.” Once I’d said it out loud, it sounded stupid. Everyone had personal problems.

“So she was a private person.” Matthias elaborated.

I shot him a glance, grateful that he had turned my idiotic statement into something more presentable. “Yes. She wasn’t very vocal about what was going on for her.”

“So,” Detective Everett was tapping her pen on the edge of the desk. “It could be, then, that Hannah was dealing with things that none of the rest of the students knew about.”

I found myself nodding. “Yes, that’s true.”

The implication of her words only occurred to me as she was already writing something down on the pad.

“I don’t think she was sad.” I had to say it. “Hannah had everything going for her. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Detective Everett fixed me with a lingering stare. “We have to consider every angle.” Then she stood. “Thank you, Miss Woodley. You may be hearing from us again.”

The interview was clearly over. I stood, nodding as she shook my hand.

Matthias led me to the door, and as he opened it, we made eye contact.

I didn’t know him, but it felt almost as though he knew me. I sidestepped him out into the hall. He followed behind.

While I walked down the hall, I heard him open the door to the other classroom. When he came back out with Gabriel behind him, I watched until they were almost into the questioning room. When Gabriel looked back, he saw me standing there, and raised an eyebrow.

I offered a small shrug, and then the door was closed.

My feet began to walk back towards the dorms, but my mind was leagues away. Did the detectives think Hannah had been so miserable at Conolly that she had run away? Or worse, did they think she had committed suicide?

The concept was unthinkable to me. Hannah was happy. I repeated this to myself as I walked down the corridor, my hands brushing against the cool rough surface of the stone mountain wall.

Hannah was happy. She had been happy. Hadn’t she?


	23. 21.

The next morning Oliver was supposed to leave, and he didn’t.

I could hear him on the phone, perhaps with one of his brothers, or a parent, passing on the information about Hannah.

“She’s really missing.” He wrapped the cord of the phone around his finger. “I know.”

I heard him sigh, a long drawn out sound. “No mom, I can’t just leave.”

So it was his mother on the other end of the line. I could picture her in my mind, her hands perpetually clutched together in worry, generally about one of her sons. She would recall the information from Oliver to her husband, a sort of dumpy old man, with a kind of relish that was only found in the middle-aged woman with nothing else better to talk about.

“I’ll call you if I find out anything else.” His voice was patient, barely. “Yes. Okay. Love you too. Bye.”

He looked up once he had hung up the phone and saw me standing there.

“So you’re staying?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem right to leave.”

I felt all at once as though I might cry. “You’re right.”

He was looking at me in that way that he did, and I really began to worry that the tears were going to come whether or not I wanted them to. “Are you doing okay? With everything?”

It was the sort of thing that we would have talked about, last year.

I nodded. “I’m okay.”

He looked a little pained. “You’re allowed to be honest with me, you know.”

“Permission isn’t what I was looking for.” My voice shook.

We had talked about the interviews, but I hadn’t talked about my reluctance to admit that Hannah and Audra had had conflict. We had talked about Hannah, but we hadn’t talked about my quiet fear that maybe the detectives were right.

In other words, we had talked, but we hadn’t talked at all.

He was looking at me with a wounded expression, so I knew he had understood what I meant.

“I’m sorry.” I said quietly. “I don’t know how to talk about this kind of thing.”

There were miles of secrets between us, it felt, Gabriel the biggest one of all of them, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about that. I felt that the last thing I could handle was a conversation about what that had meant.

I didn’t know what it meant, in truth.

We both jumped as there was a loud resounding clang. We had been standing in the hollow between the east and west wing and were therefore unfortunately fairly close to the large bell that had been hung in the tower in the east wing.

The bell rang again.

“Oh my god.” My heart leapt up into my mouth. “Oh my god.”

Oliver had gone very white. “Hannah.”

We practically sprinted to the entrance hall, which was the designated meeting place for when the bell rang twice.

A double gong at Conolly meant an announcement. A triple gong meant an emergency.

I crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t ring again. As we stumbled down the scuffed linoleum flooring of the west wing hallway, I felt my heart pounding faster than my feet would go.

The bell did not ring again, though, and by the time we made it to the entrance hall, my pulse had slowed a little.

Bewildered looking students were straggling through the wide double doors and in towards the center of the floor.

Dr. Ritter was directing us into the large auditorium, the same one where the performance had been held not even a week earlier.

I jostled into a first-year boy just in time to hear him mutter to his friend, “Do you think they’re going to tell us now that we’ve been snowed in for long enough now that they’ve run out of food?”

His friend, a girl which very large front teeth, scoffed at him. “We’re not snowed in anymore, idiot. Remember, the police have been up here?”

So it wasn’t a secret.

In the auditorium, it was dark. I reached for Oliver’s hand, scrambled until I found it, fingers clasping his. He looked over at me, expression muddied by the dim lighting.

I scanned the chair handles along the staircase for row J. “Here it is.” I whispered, though I needn’t have whispered, because it really was very loud in the auditorium.

Row J was for third year students in assemblies like these. We were the only ones there, and as we sat, I cast nervous glances around the room.

“Would they make it an announcement or an emergency if they…” Oliver trailed off helplessly.

“Found her?” The words tasted like bile. “I don’t know.”

My stomach was churning. Cecily was next to arrive, her hair wet, slick to her head. She had clearly dressed in a hurry; she was wearing red velvet pants and an orange t-shirt of mine that had once belonged to Oliver.

“I was in the shower.” She explained breathlessly, her hand going to her head. “I still have soap in my hair. Did they say anything?”

She must have seen in my eyes that they hadn’t, because she was already twisting in her seat to look for the others when I responded. “Nothing yet.”

Gabriel, Audra, and Colin arrived together, sliding wordlessly into their seats. Nobody looked at the empty chair on the end that was usually Hannah’s.

After several unbearable minutes, Dr. Rutledge took to the stage.

“It is with deep concern that I address you all this afternoon.” He spoke each word with the same clarity that he demanded from his students. “One of our students, Miss Hannah Frazier, who I am sure you all saw as the Queen of the Night in our recent performance of The Magic Flute, is now considered by the police as a missing person.”

The projector switched on, and a picture of Hannah’s face was splashed across it. The photo had been taken in preparation for the performance, to put in the program, and I thought it was awful. It had been put on some of the posters that were placed in town – not that we really needed to do that, all of the locals were coming anyway – and it showed Hannah’s stage smile. Anyone who knew her at all would know the different. I supposed it didn’t matter for the rest of the student body who only knew her as the remarkable girl who sang like she was born to do it.

“I encourage each and every one of you to be watchful over the holiday season. We want to recover Miss Frazier to the school with no damage to her person.”

I hated the way he spoke, how lightly he seemed to take Hannah’s disappearance, as though she were a lost article of clothing, disposable.

“As such, the Conolly Institute has determined to stay open for the holidays, in case she returns during this window. It has come to our attention that some of you would prefer to stay at school over the break, and we have determined that under such extraneous circumstances it is more than fitting that such students should be permitted to do so.”

He paused to cough into the microphone, a deeply unsettling sound. “There will be a sign-up sheet set up in the entrance hall following this announcement. If you desire to stay at Conolly December twenty third through January second, please ensure that you sign up or else you will find yourself very hungry, and rather chilled.” He grinned as if he had made an exceptionally funny joke, and some second-year girls in the front row tittered a little nervously.

“Thank you for your time, and your prompt appearance this afternoon.” He inclined his head, and left the stage, leaning heavily on his cane.

A first-year boy began to clap, but was quickly hushed by his friends.

There was a murmuring in the room, fueled by the news.

They had made it public. My head was pounding, I realized. The relief of the news not being about death was juxtaposed starkly with the knowledge that they had brought the whole world into this small little case.

The line outside the auditorium was already several people deep.

I got in line without a second thought, not surprised when all five of the rest of our group joined me. It seemed fitting, that we all stayed at Conolly. Inevitable, even. I would wish, later, that we hadn’t, but it was the right choice at the time.

Dr. Ritter was behind the table, making sure that all went smoothly.

“Afternoon, Leah.” He nodded as I scribbled my name and student ID number on the paper.

I looked up, startled. It was the first time he had ever addressed me by my first name. I recalled, out of nowhere, the sight of Hannah in his office, still in her yellow dress. “Good afternoon.”

He looked like he might say something else, but then he just closed his mouth and nodded, a faint impression of a sad smile on his face.

Cecily wrote her name down with vigor, the pen a sword and she the vicious wielder.

She turned to me after she had slammed the pen down on the table. “I’m going to go finish washing my hair.” She grumbled. The suds in her curls had turned slimy, and her hair stuck to her head, giving the impression that she was a breed of wet dog. She left the hall with her arms crossed over her chest and her head ducked.

Lunch after the assembly was an unpleasantly quiet one, at our table anyway. There was a low murmuring through the hall, and I could see that we were being watched, Hannah absence being noticed, perhaps by some of them, for the first time.

Forks clinked, and glasses were dragged across the table, but none of us spoke. It felt like after the assembly, there was nothing left to say.

After fifteen achingly long minutes of this, however, Gabriel broke the silence.

“I can’t stand it anymore.” He pushed his chair back, turning and addressing the rest of the room.

Audra began to squeak a high-pitched objection, but he stopped her with his hand held up in front of him.

“Listen!” His exclamation resounded through the whole room.

Every way I looked, heads turned, spoons stopped their trajectories towards mouths that remained open.

“One of our own is missing.” Gabriel’s voice was strong, indignant.

Audra was looking up at him, her eyes wide as saucers. She tugged at his jacket. “What are you _doing_?”

He ignored her. “I, for one, think it absurd that we should sit by and merely wait while we have no idea what might be going on for our friend and what she might be experiencing right now.”

I thought, with a small jolt, that Gabriel still believed she was alive.

Didn’t I?

Six days was a very long time.

The faces around us were watching Gabriel with rapt attention.

He turned in a circle, addressing the group. “I say we take this opportunity to prove that we are willing to do more than just sit by and _hope_.” He injected the last word with venom. “It’s time to start looking. Who’s with me?”

There was a stunned silence. Gabriel’s hands were clenched into fists by his sides. “I said, who’s with me?”

Oliver stood up. With a wary look at Gabriel, Colin did too.

I followed. If Cecily had been there, I was sure she would have as well, but since she wasn’t, it was only Audra left. She had buried her face in her hands and wouldn’t look up.

There was a scraping sound as chairs were pushed back, and three or four students stood up.

“Come on!” Gabriel circled around once more. “This is our chance to prove that she means something to us.”

He began to walk towards the door.

Several more students stood up, and by the time Gabriel had reached the door, it looked as though half of the students in the dining centre were standing.

“Meet me in the entrance hall in ten minutes ready to go outside. Tell your friends!” He opened the door and left with a flourish, because that was how Gabriel did everything.

I wondered how he planned to pull off a search in eight feet of snow, but I still made my way to the dormitories to retrieve my winter coat despite my doubts. It was Gabriel, after all, and if anyone could do whatever he set his mind to, it was him.

There was one large closet in the hallway where we all hung up our winter jackets, in order to make room in the cramped bedroom closets. Oliver and Colin both grasped their jackets and set about the business of ensuring that there was the least amount of bare skin available to the outside world as possible. I set my sights on my dark purple puff jacket and pulled it off the hook. I was about to turn around, when I noticed a small piece of folded lined paper on the ground.

Ordinarily I would have left it there, but visible through the paper, having been written in an intense hand, there was a large letter H.

I looked both directions down the hall. I could hear the shower still running, hear the sound of Cecily’s voice echoing off of the bathroom tile, though the sound was muffled through the closed door. Neither Oliver nor Colin was looking. I ducked down to retrieve the paper.

With a cursory glance down the corridor, I balled it in my fist and carried it into my room with me. Once I was certain I was out of sight, I unfolded the piece of paper.

There were only four words, and then the signature.

**I’m going to ask.**

**-H**

I stared at the piece of paper. Ask what? Whose jacket had this fallen out of? I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder. The message could mean nothing, but the handwriting was hasty, when Hannah’s penmanship was normally impeccable. Who was she asking? And… an itch formed on the side of my neck. Did this have something to do with her disappearance?

I heard footsteps outside of the bedroom and shoved the piece of paper into my pocket.

“Are you coming?” Oliver asked, the outline of his profile just visible through the crack of the door.

I nodded, shoving my arms into my jacket sleeves, a million thoughts whirling through my brain.

-

It became obvious very quickly that the search for Hannah was going to be fruitless. The snow was too deep, and it was far too cold out for any strenuous activity, but Gabriel did not let this flag him.

I supposed that was the thing about Gabriel. If he believed something could be done, it could, and you believed him just because of how he said it. He led the pack of about thirty students down the road and towards the forest, where he split us into two groups.

Audra had refused to come. Her ‘no’ was adamant, and she had watched us leave the hall with an icy stare. I’d turned back to watch her as we left, but she had already disappeared from the window.

“Here’s the plan.” Gabriel said. “Stick together in groups of two or three. Group one, we’ll go down to the lake. Group two, you look around the forest.”

There were several second years who were looking rather dubiously at the snowbanks. “Isn’t the snow too deep?”

Gabriel looked at the banks, and for the first time, I saw a bit of his confidence waver. His voice, however, was firm. “We’ll do our best, alright?”

Colin, Oliver and I formed our usual trio, and as part of group two, we began the trek down to the lake. Fortunately, it appeared that the custodian had been there before us, and a path had been stamped into the otherwise soft and groundless snow with a snowmobile.

“This is an absurd amount of snow.” Colin looked annoyed as he stepped in the wrong spot and his foot plunged down until he was submerged in the powder all the way to his thigh.

Oliver helped wrench him out, but by then Colin was shivering, his pant leg wet.

We were careful on our way down. The trees, usually landmarks for the walk down to the lake, had become unrecognizable, snow giants, shapeless and huge. The tamped down path was narrow, and we walked in a straight line, glancing from side to side.

“This is no way to search.” I could hear my own misery in my voice. “There’s no way we’ll ever find her in all of this.”

Colin’s voice was pressed thin. “There’s no way we’d find anything good if we did.”

This was not a pleasant thought, and my mind danced around the edges of it, not wanting to dwell but unable to think of anything else.

There was nothing else to say that wasn’t even more unpleasant, so we walked in silence until the trees gave way to the open plain that was the lake. My mind drifted to the note. It felt like the mere existence of it was burning a hole in my pocket.

We walked for a while, until Oliver stopped. “Snow isn’t so deep here. Are we on top of the lake?” He shuffled a bit with his feet, and I could hear his shoe as it scuffed against ice.

“Must be.” Colin whirled around, hand over his eyes to look up towards the castle.

I followed his gaze. Covered in snow, Conolly was an entirely different building, something from a storybook. The tower stood stark against the grey sky, an accuser, watchful over us.

I made up my mind.

“Look.” I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket. “I found this, but I don’t know who it was supposed to be for.”

Oliver took it from me, fumbling with gloved hands, his breath clouding in front of him. At last, he managed to get it open. He looked at it for a moment, then frowned. “What does it mean?”

“I have no idea.”

Oliver passed the paper to Colin, who was looking pensive. When he read the message, he went very still, head bowed over the paper.

“Do you know what this is about?” Oliver asked, then stamped his feet to stay warm.

Colin did not speak for a very long time. When he finally did, it was an agonizingly simple answer. “I don’t know.”

“But you might have an idea?” My teeth were chattering.

“I’m not certain.” His voice was oddly pitchless. Then he looked up at me. “Don’t show this to anyone else, alright?”

I stared him down. “Why not?”

He said the words very quietly. “If it’s about what I think it is, then there’s somebody who shouldn’t know this exists.”

There was a stillness to that moment, where everything tilted on its head. Maybe that was when I began to understand that something bigger was happening, that what had happened to Hannah wasn’t an accident. At least that was when I had the thought first, blooming behind my ribs. A dark flower.

I looked to Oliver, who was looking up towards the tower, his face troubled.

The moment was broken by the sound of shouting coming from the direction of the forest. Oliver’s head swivelled in the direction of the sound so quickly that the momentum caused him to slide on the ice underfoot. He grasped my arm for balance, and eventually his feet found solid ground.

Gabriel was leading the large group of students back to us. Once he was close enough, I could see that he was shaking his head. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and the sound carried far enough that we could hear it clearly. “It’s no use!”

“What is?” Oliver shouted back.

“Snow is too deep!” Gabriel was close enough now that he didn’t have to yell. “There’s no way we’ll find anything in here without putting more students in danger.”

“I couldn’t have told you that myself without trekking around in the snow for an hour.” Colin said.

Gabriel shot him a nasty look. “It was worth it to look.”

On the way back to the castle, the students grumbled between themselves, a low murmur of discontent that I felt all the way into my bones. By the time we had reached the entrance hall, Gabriel was in a foul mood, and it stayed with him for the rest of the day and into the evening.

“It’s almost Christmas.” Cecily said at dinner.

Gabriel had locked himself in the room and refused to speak with anyone, and Audra hadn’t wanted to leave him, so it was just the four of us around the table.

“I guess tomorrow is Christmas Eve.” Oliver said, but his voice was hollow. He found my knee under the table and squeezed it.

“Do you feel like…” Cecily was worrying a loose thread in her sweater between her thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t it feel like we should do something?”

“For Hannah?” This was the first thing Colin had said in a while, and the sound of his voice was jarring. Maybe it was the way that his voice was _different_ that was jarring.

Cecily looked at him. “For us.”

The three of us considered this.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Oliver said. “Even if it’s something small.”

“We should go into town.” Cecily said. “I know the detectives have been asking, but maybe we could ask Eugene and Kirstin if Hannah came into the pub. I’d feel better asking myself.”

It was agreed, then, that we would spend our Christmas Eve in town, and even if we didn’t find Hannah, it would serve as a distraction. I only hoped there would be something there that took my mind off of her, even just for a moment.

As it turned out, there was, but it wasn’t anything I could have anticipated, or wanted. That was the way things went after Hannah disappeared: one horrible surprise after another.


	24. 22.

It was Christmas, but it didn’t feel like it. Time usually operated in an odd, fluid way after exams, and this week had been almost like that, but worse, because we were waiting.

It was becoming obvious that the event we were waiting for would never happen.

Audra refused to come into town. I told her that it would make her feel better if she did, and she fixed me with such a complicated look that I left her alone.

We were fortunate that a cab would come up to Conolly at all. I had been expecting that no one would want to make the drive up in this awful weather, but the fact that we were a large party seemed to be motivation enough, and after a short wait, the five of us – without Audra – found ourselves in the back of two taxis on the drive down.

Oliver, Cecily, and I sat in silence. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, just anticipatory. If Hannah had been here, I thought, it would be fine.

When the driver dropped us off at the front entrance of the local pub, The Whistling Bartender, it became clear that we had not had the worse drive down. As I tipped the man, the door of the other car slammed so sharply that I looked up. Colin was stalking towards the front door, his lips in a tight line. Gabriel clambered out of the other side, looked annoyed.

Colin wrenched open the front door, knocking the snow off of his boots before entering. I could hear the bells jangling inside, and I waited until the door closed before turning to Gabriel. “What’s all that about?”

Gabriel shrugged, and jammed his bare fists into the pockets of his jacket. “Not too sure, actually. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, maybe.”

It was a deliberate evasion – Colin didn’t just _get angry_ like that, if anything, that was more Gabriel’s style – but he looked both annoyed and slightly worried, so I didn’t press him.

I followed Oliver into the pub. It was nearly dark out, and the inside of the room was lit by multicoloured Christmas lights strung along the wall, painting the room a bright neon glow. The speaker in the corner was playing an altogether too cheerful rendition of _Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree._

The bartender’s smile was wide when he first saw us, then shifted abruptly when he saw we were students to something a little more uneasy.

The pub was mostly empty – I imagined it was probably not the top destination for Christmas Eve, and the proprietor was likely delighted to have more customers.

I scanned the room: Colin was already slouched at the bar, looking moody.

“I heard about your friend.”

Cecily didn’t beat around the bush. “Did she come in here, at all? On the fifteenth?”

The bartender – his nametag read Eugene – shook his head. “No. Those detectives were already in here asking about it.”

Cecily’s disappointment was so pronounced it was hard to look at. “Oh.”

“First round on me, eh?” Eugene took in our dejected faces and sighed. “She’ll turn up. Last minute road trips happen, you know?”

He began to pour glasses of beer, and I accepted one gratefully.

The evening started slowly. I didn’t know what I was expecting it to be, but it wasn’t the distraction I had been hoping for. We’d been here before as a group, and Hannah was everywhere – her favourite chair by the fire sitting empty was a terrible sight, somehow made worse when it became occupied by a rather sour looking man.

I sat by Oliver at the bar, Cecily on my other side. We talked about nothing, the way you do when there’s only one other thing to talk about, and you’ve already beaten the conversation to death.

For a while, Gabriel sat with us, not saying much, drinking steadily. I didn’t realize how much he had consumed until he saw somebody from Conolly that he recognized and stood up, swaying slightly, and crossed the room to greet him.

At some point in the night, Eugene turned up the volume on the speakers, so that the Christmas music was loud enough that it was difficult to talk.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Cecily’s voice was loud in my ear.

“Alright.”

I watched her weave through the crowd.

I had been wrong about tonight. The pub was busier than I would have expected for Christmas Eve, rowdy in the collective blend of celebratory raucous joy and relief. It was nearly dark out; multicoloured Christmas lights strung along the wall painted the room and our faces dull shades of neon. The speaker in the corner blared an altogether too cheerful rendition of _Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree,_ so loud I pressed the pads of my fingers against my temples.

I turned to Oliver. “Was it a bad idea, coming down here?”

He shook his head, pointing to his ear. “What?”

I tugged him over to a corner where the music faded to a bearably dull roar, sat down facing the window, and repeated the question. “Do you think it was stupid of us to try and come here tonight? After everything that’s happened?”

He sat on the barstool next to me and drummed his fingers against the glossy wood, pondering the question. “I don’t think so. We needed a distraction.”

“I wish.” I said plaintively. “I’m not distracted.”

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll distract you if you want.”

There was a playful lilt to his voice, and when I looked up at him, it was there in his eyes, too. Something warm. Flirtatious, even.

I bit down a smile. “Okay.”

“What are you thinking?” He asked me, tone tipping towards serious. His eyes caught the light and reflected it back.

Everything about the way Oliver watched me was earnest, open, down to the even lines of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, his broad cheekbones. I reached over and touched his face, so that when he smiled, I felt it under my fingertips. “I’m thinking that I’d like to kiss you.”

The smile under my hands deepened. “What’s stopping you?”

I kissed him, long and lingering, like I’d done before in a hundred different moments, when I was somebody else. His lips reminded me of how it had felt to be that person, the stubble on his jaw scratchy against my cheek, my heart a poorly contained and furious creature at war with the rest of me.

When I pulled away, I was greeted with a delighted smile. Something tugged below my navel. It was a real and true Oliver-smile, the kind I hadn’t seen up close in what felt like years. It was bright, and beautiful, and it ignited a spark, and it made me feel terrible.

“What’s wrong?” Oliver, as usual, was more perceptive than I gave him credit for.

Ordinarily I would have deflected a question like this, but it was just the two of us, and tonight partial truth was easy. “I feel guilty.”

He nodded. “I know. So do I.”

“It feels wrong to be happy. I’ve been pushing you away on purpose because of it. Or something.”

“Is that the only reason?”

I sighed and looked across the room. Only a few feet away, Colin was brooding at the bar, stirring a glass of water with his index finger. “It’s the biggest one.”

“Leah.” Oliver’s voice was quieter than I had expected. When I looked at him, he wasn’t looking at me, but out through the frosted window at the dark silhouettes of buildings across the street. “I know we haven’t been telling each other things – we got used to that.”

Now he looked at me. “It’s a habit I’d like to break.”

The truth was right there. I might even have let it out if my attention hadn’t been redirected.

“Hey. You.”

The words were quiet enough that I almost didn’t hear them, and I might have missed the beginning of it if instinct hadn’t raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

Gabriel stood right next to Colin, drink in hand, a scowl on his face.

Colin wasn’t drinking. His sobriety was clear in the defensive jaunt of his shoulders, the clarity in his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Gabriel, on the other hand, had had perhaps one too many, leaning on his elbow, right in Colin’s face.

There was no way he could know how Colin felt, I thought, or else he wouldn’t stand so close.

“My problem is the issue you seem to have with my girlfriend.” Gabriel’s voice was a little loose, a little vacuous.

“I don’t have an issue with Audra.” Colin jabbed a pointer finger into Gabriel’s chest. “I have an issue with you taking advantage of her.”

“I –” Gabriel seemed genuinely offended by the accusation “– I don’t take advantage of her.”

Colin’s silence was scathing. He held Gabriel’s gaze for a second, then looked down at his own hands.

Gabriel wasn’t ready to walk away. “You’re making that up. Making everything more than it is. Like you always do.”

If Gabriel had known – how could he not? – maybe he would see it too, the pieces that he was chipping off of Colin’s heart, slow, methodical.

“You know what?” Colin’s voice was eerily even, deadly calm, but then he sighed, and he just sounded tired. “Fuck you, Gabriel.”

He turned back to face forward in his seat, but Gabriel gripped his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Colin glowered at him, his voice suddenly dropped, so that I couldn’t hear what he said, but his mouth moved very deliberately around the words.

Gabriel stared at him, something working in his jaw. “You say that again.”

Colin’s voice was imperceptible to me, but not to Gabriel. I only saw the movement in Colin’s lips, and then the tensing in Gabriel’s shoulders.

“I don’t.” Gabriel’s eyes weren’t quite focused, his voice barely carried to where I sat.

I touched Oliver’s knee, but he was already watching them, eyebrows drawn together.

Right then, the songs changed, and I only heard Colin’s response because of the space before a singer began crooning the intro to _Holly Jolly Christmas_.

He tensed like a leopard ready to pounce, his whole body a tightly wound coil. “You _do_.”

“Come on.” Oliver whispered against my ear. “It’s not our business.”

I sighed, and made myself look back at him, because he was right, but a single moment later, it became our business.

In the split second I’d looked away, everything had gone to shit.

There was a muffled thud, and when I whirled back around, Gabriel was on the ground.

Colin stood over him, fist clenched, knuckles stained white.

Gabriel was not down for long. He staggered to his feet, clutching his jaw, and took an unstable swing at Colin, who ducked out of the way. “You asshole!” Gabriel took a surprisingly deft step backwards. “You hit me!”

Oliver jumped to his feet. “Hey!”

 _Oh, ho, the mistletoe, hung where you can see,_ the voice crooned from the speakers, _somebody waits for you…_

“I did.” Colin was so angry he was shaking, but his voice was even. “And I’ll do it again if you keep fucking around.”

“I’m not –” Gabriel took a step backwards, gearing up to hit back, but Oliver grabbed his arms.

“Gabriel!” Oliver hissed. “What are you doing?”

By this point, we had gotten Eugene’s attention. His face behind the bar was earnestly pleasant, but wary.

Colin still stood with his fists clenched.

Gabriel was putting most of his energy into resisting Oliver’s grasp, but couldn’t seem to muster the strength to break free.

“Evening, gentlemen.” Eugene’s voice was as pleasant as his face. “What’s going on over here?”

 _Oh, by golly have a holly jolly Christmas,_ the music continued, _this year!_

Neither Colin nor Gabriel stopped looking at each other to acknowledge Eugene.

“You know the rules.” Eugene said after several seconds had passed with no further blows exchanged. “If you fight, I have to kick you out.”

The boys stayed silent. Colin’s chest was heaving, staring at Gabriel as though he was just as surprised as the rest of us.

“Are you good?” Oliver asked, annoyed, as though they were schoolchildren. “Done with your little spat?”

Colin nodded jerkily, trembling like a leaf.

Gabriel spat onto the floor. I could see red in the splotch. “I’m done.”

Warily, Oliver let go of Gabriel’s arms. He stayed where he was, swaying only slightly. Slowly, Oliver walked back to where I was perched on the barstool.

I began to relax. It would be okay.

It would not be okay.

Colin turned, and just when he was facing the other direction, Gabriel sprang on him, knocking him on the back of his skull.

He went down like a sack of bricks.

Somebody screamed – it might have been me – and then Gabriel was on top of him.

For a split second I had the horrible impression that Colin was dead, but then he was fighting back, arms and sharp elbows colliding as Gabriel did his level best to tear him apart.

The whole thing might have taken less than ten seconds, or it might have taken an hour. It was broken into fragments – the glow of the Christmas lights on Gabriel’s face, a bloody fist, Oliver scrambling to break them up, Eugene leaping over the bar.

When the boys were finally pried apart, Colin sported a split lip, holding his wrist gingerly, and Gabriel pressed his sleeve to his face, trying to staunch the blood streaming from his nose.

“Out!” Eugene looked furious. “I thought better of you.”

When the boys made no move, he sighed. “Look, I warned you. You’ve got everyone’s attention, now get out of my pub.”

Oliver tugged at Gabriel’s arm, but he jerked away, shrugging his jacket back up onto his shoulders. “Fine.”

Gabriel turned and walked a little unsteadily out the door.

I still think I was the only one who noticed the tear. I was probably the only one looking at Colin, because everyone else was focused on Gabriel, but something compelled me to look back at the second that a single tear ran down over Colin’s cheekbone, jaw, and spilled onto his neck while he watched Gabriel go, backlit by red neon light.

He didn’t see me looking, and he swiped at it so quickly that I might not have recognized the gesture if I hadn’t been looking for it, but there it was: the first and last unwitting confession of a truth I already knew.

Eugene sighed. “You too, Colin. I’m sorry.”

Cecily was walking back towards us from the bathroom. “What the hell happened here?”

There was only the truth to tell.

“Colin fought Gabriel.” Oliver’s voice was weary.

Cecily jerked her head around towards Colin, who wasn’t look at her rather deliberately. “What?”

It seemed only fitting that the three of us would also be leaving with them. It wasn’t like we would leave the two of them to duke it out in the street, and I wasn’t entirely sure that they wouldn’t, if they were given the opportunity.

“I’m going to make sure Gabriel’s still upright.” I told the other two, though I didn’t know whether or not they heard me.

It was bitterly cold outside, and I nearly gasped, tugging my jacket closer around me. “Gabriel?” I found him not by sight, but by sound. He was retching violently into a snowbank. “ _Gabriel._ ”

I stood just behind him until he was finished, and the retching turned into sobbing. “God.” He said. “Oh god.” He began to murmur indistinct words over and over again, then he took two steps and collapsed.

I sighed, kneeling beside him. “Are you dead or dying?” I asked. “Otherwise I’m not sympathetic.”

“He deserved it.” Gabriel was either sobbing or shivering, it was impossible to tell which.

“No he didn’t.” I tried to keep the malice out of my voice.

“You’re right.” To my surprise, Gabriel sniffed and sat up. “That was shitty of me.”

I was sort of impressed. “Yes it was.”

“But he did hit me first.” He said. “Fucker.”

Then his face crumpled, and he began to cry.

Feeling a little helpless, I began to stand up, when Gabriel grabbed my arm. “I know too much.” He hiccupped, then repeated, “I know too much, I –”

Whatever he was trying to say, he seemed to lose either the clarity or the forward momentum to say it.

“What do you know, Gabriel?” My voice was perhaps a bit harsh, but I didn’t think this was the time to be gentle. “What?”

He shook his head and laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound, that laugh. It had an edge like jagged glass.

“Gabriel. Tell me what you know.”

“Can’t.”

That was the last coherent word out of Gabriel that night, because the next minute, he collapsed.

I was maybe a little bit more annoyed with this than the action warranted, because it wasn’t really his fault, but I still felt frustration welling up in me.

By this time, Colin, Cecily, and Oliver were on their way out.

“Over here!” I yelled. “You’ll have to help me lift him into the cab.”

The wait for the cab to arrive was quiet, and the ride up to Conolly was even quieter. Gabriel regained consciousness halfway up the mountain, though he was largely incoherent, and by the time we arrived, he was beginning to thrash around in his seat like a goldfish out of water.

“I’ll find Audra if you get him out.” I addressed Oliver and Cecily.

Cecily looked dubiously at Gabriel, but I was already out of the cab. When I looked back, she was lifting one of Gabriel’s arms onto her shoulders.

I hurried through the entrance hall, into the main hall, and down the corridor to the dormitories.

Audra was not in our bedroom, and neither was her mattress. A little puzzled, I turned around in the hallway.

The light was on in the bedroom she had shared with Hannah, glowing under the crack that wasn’t quite filled by the doorstop.

I knocked on the door, three short raps. “Audra?”

There was no answer.

I knocked again. Nothing.

“Audra!” This time I was yelling, despite the hour. “It’s Gabriel.”

At this her door opened. Her glassy eyes were wide, her hair messed with sleep. “What did he do?”

“He and Colin fought.”

This was all she needed to hear. Audra wrenched open the door, in her pajamas. “My _God_.” She sounded incensed. “What an idiot.”

Something in the set of her shoulders did not inspire conversation. Wordlessly, we rushed back down the hall, but the rest of them had not been far behind, and they met us in the corridor that connected the dormitories with the main hall.

Gabriel was draped over Oliver and Cecily, though she was staggering a little under his weight, so with his arms outstretched over them he looked like a plane that was about to make a crash landing.

Audra made a complicated sound in the back of her throat at the sight of him.

His nose had been left untreated, and now that we were back in the warmth, it had begun to bleed again.

Oliver and Cecily guided him, now with Audra’s help too, into his bedroom, leaving Colin and I standing in the hallway.

“Is that broken?” I asked.

Colin was holding his left arm close to his chest. He shook his head, but he looked a little unsteady.

“Let me see it.”

He extended his hand, looking as though he was trying to pretend it didn’t hurt him.

I hissed a little. It was already swollen, a little red. “Looks like a sprain.” I looked up at his face as I touched it lightly and a muscle in his cheek twitched. “It needs to be wrapped.”

“I’ll do it.”

I made a small noise of impatience. “Someone has to wrap it, and you can’t do it one handed.”

Colin opened his mouth to object, but I put up a hand.

“Don’t. I’m going to help, okay? It’ll be easier for you to just go with it.”

He looked a little pained but didn’t put up a fight. I guided him into the girls bathroom, which he looked at with interest. “I’ve never been in here before.”

I tapped the counter beside the sink. “Sit.”

“It’s just like the boys bathroom, but backwards.” He sat. “And cleaner.”

“I’ll be right back.” I pointed at him. “Don’t move.”

He gave me a salute with his good hand as I left the room.

I quickly crossed to the small kitchen, and in one of the many white cupboards I found the zippered red bag containing the first aid kit. On my way back, I peered into the boys room.

Gabriel was face up on the bed, the other three huddled around him. It looked as though he had either fallen asleep or passed out again.

I heard Audra ask, “Do you know how much he drank?” She was gingerly dabbing at his face with a cloth.

I ducked out of the room and back into the bathroom. Colin was still sitting where I left him, which surprised me a little.

“Give me your wrist.”

“Since when are you qualified for medical work?” Colin asked, but he extended his arm.

“I was a lifeguard in high school.” I told him. “I had to take all kinds of first aid classes.” I prodded the side of his wrist, and he hissed in pain. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s sprained. Not broken though.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Maybe.” I rummaged in the bag for a tensor band, which I found and unrolled. “I’m going to wrap it, and after that you should rest it for the next few days.”

“I can already tell you that I’m not going to do that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Colin. This is your health.”

“Since when have I ever cared about my health?” As unabashed as he sounded, he let me begin the process.

“So.” I didn’t take my eyes off of the tensor bandage as I carefully wrapped it around his wrist. “Gabriel. For how long?”

“It’s that obvious, is it?” Colin’s laugh was a dry and bitter creature.

“Only once I was looking for it.”

There was a slight pause.

“I wish you’d told me.” I tried to keep any emotion out of my voice, but my efforts were fruitless, and reproach slipped out anyway. I used the pins to secure the bandage.

He sighed. “I know.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.” I knew I didn’t have to justify myself, but I was doing it anyway. “Not even Oliver.”

Colin laughed again, but this was more genuine. “Why do I get the sense that you tell Oliver the least of what you tell anybody?”

“Hey.” I shoved his shoulder. “This is about you. Don’t flip it around.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

I took a brown bottle out of the bag, unscrewed it, and found a bag of white gauze and cotton swabs. There was a graze on Colin’s cheek, and I wet a bit of gauze and swiped at it gingerly.

“Ouch.” He jerked away. “What is that?”

“Peroxide.” I tipped the bottle over to drench a cotton swab. “Put this on your lip.”

Looking a bit dubious, he dabbed gingerly at his split lip. “Fuck. That stings.” He ran his tongue over the surface. “And it doesn’t taste good, either.”

“Don’t lick it then, asshole.” I yanked out a bandage, bit down a smile that quickly faded. “Why’d you hit him?”

Colin was silent. “He deserved it.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but I had a feeling that it made up the majority of it.

“Did you know, before the fight?” He asked. The meaning of his question was clear.

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.

For a long time Colin didn’t say anything, and when I glanced up he was looking at me with a very complicated look on his face. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Why not?” I straightened up, finished with my nurse duties. “I thought we were friends.”

“It just – complicates things.” Colin put his head in his hands and then winced as he put weight on his wrist. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” He elaborated, when I bristled. “And we _are_ friends.” He laughed, a breathy, weightless sound. “It’s that when I say it out loud I feel like I have to justify it.”

He looked down at the tile. “And I mean, logically, it makes no sense. He has a girlfriend he’ll probably marry if he’s lucky, and even if he didn’t have her, I’m nowhere near the team he plays for.” He was examining his fingers. “And he’s not a good person.”

I looked at him, trying to decipher what his face told me that his voice didn’t. “What do you mean? Gabriel?”

Colin exhaled a long breath. “You saw him tonight. He hit me with my back turned.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. That just means he did a bad thing.” I wasn’t quite sure why I was trying to excuse Gabriel, when clearly it wasn’t making Colin feel any better.

“He’s like that all the time.” Colin said, his voice low. “That’s just who he is. The guy who hits when your back is turned because he’s not sure he’ll win if you’re face to face.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair.” I settled on the sink next to him.

“It isn’t.” Colin shrugged. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

I paused, trying to digest this new information. “Then why? Why do you… care about him?”

Colin turned his hands over in his lap so that his palms were facing up. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You like self-sabotage even more than I do.” I hoped he would take it as a joke.

He snorted. “Seems like it.”

“You never answered my question.” I said. “Gabriel. How long?”

He winced. “Do I have to answer?”

“It’ll be good for you to tell someone.”

He scoffed. “I already told someone. Two someones.”

“You told them this part?” I swatted his shoulder. “Colin. Do I mean anything to you at all?”

“I told them everything. In my defense, I’d never have said anything sober.” He paused, reflecting. “They got me _wasted_. Thought I’d been poisoned.”

“Oh, please. You walked right into that.”

“God, you should have been there.” Colin smiled the first genuine smile I had seen on him in weeks. “Hannah was drinking like a maniac. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

There was a sober moment as we considered the thought of Hannah, before.

I frowned. “What did she have to drink like that about?”

His eyes went dark. “Not my business to say.”

“Then just answer my first question.” I prodded him in the ribs.

He scowled, but in honesty, didn’t look as annoyed as I thought he would. “Fine.” He crossed his arms, wincing again over his forgotten wrist. “Last year. It was during the dress rehearsal for Marriage of Figaro. You remember.”

I nodded. I did remember.

“So we were both chorus members and we had this one scene where we were both waiting backstage during that scene where Cherubino jumps out of the window.”

I nodded. Audra had played the role of Cherubino, and it was hard to forget that particular scene for its comic effect.

“And Gabriel had memorized the whole thing. He’d mime the whole thing, just to make me laugh. It was then.” He ducked his head. “Of course, it was a hundred other things before that, but that was when I knew.”

He continued, “By that point, I was pretty sure I was going to make the cut, and I knew that obviously he would. It felt… fated.” He shook his head. “Obviously it wasn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I told him so.

“I know.” He said. “It’s an impossible situation.”

“This whole year is an impossible situation.”


	25. 24.

It seemed surprising to me, somehow, that the semester would start as normal, even though nothing about it was normal. The days between Christmas and New Years were messy, a little blurred in such an unusual fashion that I am still surprised that there isn’t more story to tell.

Colin and Gabriel forgave each other, in that odd way that boys can do even after they have been tussling on the floor. Colin had broken Gabriel’s nose, we found out, but one more trip into town straightened it out. Colin, despite his protests otherwise, wore the tensor bandage faithfully, and though his split lip healed, there was something about him after that that was different. I told Oliver that I thought as much, and after a few days of observation, he agreed, though neither of us could seem to find any specific reason to think so. It wasn’t that the fight had broken his spirit, actually, it seemed just the opposite. Something about his stance betrayed a brightness in him, a confidence that differed from his usual show, something _genuine_.

Hannah did not reappear.

The first day of classes arrived, and we went to them, the six of us in a clump. There was nothing else to do besides sit around and wonder.

We could all feel Hannah's absence like a phantom limb. As we all filed into the basement for the first session of master classes, Dr. Davis looked at us a little helplessly. 

"I don't want to start without her more than any of you do." She said. "But I guess that's what we have to do." 

I thought she looked more tired than usual. I hadn't seen her since it had become clear that Hannah really was missing, and she now carried with her a shaken kind of aura. The usual pep was missing from her step as she slowly began handing out large stacks of music. 

As she handed them out, she sent quick, cursory glances towards the door, and once she had handed out the scores to all of us, she clutched the last one in her hands. Her knuckles were white. 

"Well." She cleaned her throat. "we're going to proceed as planned, for now. We'll just have to hope that Hannah decides to come back on the soon side." 

There was a ripple of movement in the group, quiet noises expressing distaste for the statement. The faculty was still really playing it like she had simply up and left on purpose?

I glanced at Cecily. 

"Have you – er." She began. "Have you heard something from her? 

A shadow passed over Dr. Davis’ face. "No. No, we haven't." 

It seemed silly, singing now, without her. I found myself staring at the title page of my own song, the words blurred and refusing to register as anything that made sense. 

They had not put out a chair for Hannah. With only the six of us, the room felt too big somehow. The space was cavernous as it was, and without her laughter filling it, it was empty. Maybe it was just that we were all so quiet, but I felt the lack of her profoundly. 

Oliver put a hand my knee. His voice was especially quiet. "You okay?" 

I shot him a disbelieving look. ''Are any of us?"

Audra especially seemed deeply affected by Hannah’s absence, practically beside herself. She kept looking through the door as though expecting her to burst through it at any second, grasping the side of the chair with both hands, her knuckles white.

"So." Dr. Davis stood in front of us, looking like she would rather be anywhere else. "Casting is the same, for now. I expect all of you to learn your parts. We can't let every setback stall us, as performers.” She said the words with a confidence that her face did not convey. "I encourage all of you to make use of the counseling services we offer. It's important not to bottle this up. A loss is especially difficult to wrangle with and I do not expect any of you to behave as though nothing has happened.”

She paused, as though struck with a sudden thought. “It can be a valuable asset though, grief. Use it in your music." 

I stared at her in disbelief. Was she really encouraging us to exploit Hannah's disappearance for our own professional benefit? 

The rest of our classes began like nothing had happened. Professors began to lecture. They skipped her name on the attendance sheet. I had thought that given the circumstances they would go easy on us third years, but I found myself surrounded by assignments, due dates already swimming in front of my eyes.

And the opera. I hadn’t given it a single thought in weeks, but the faculty was determined to proceed as though at any moment their prized lead would waltz back through the front doors, apologizing for giving us a fright.

 _La Sonnambula_ , it was called. The Sleepwalker.

Once again, I had been given a relatively small part, and I prepared myself for another semester similar to the last.

It was an Italian opera semiseria, which I found meant that it fit neither the comic nor the tragic operatic genre, falling somewhere in the middle. It was set in a Swiss village, and told the story of a girl who was a chronic sleepwalker, and the various wrenches her habit threw in the plans for her upcoming wedding.

It didn’t seem interesting, not anymore. Nothing about school could hold my attention at all. I received back my first marked essay with a bold D+ in red ink, and I didn’t feel the dismay that I would have had I received that grade the previous semester. I looked at it with a mild detachment, unseeing. It could have been in an entirely different language, for all it meant to me.

This same cloud seemed to follow my peers, afflicting some of them worse than the others.

Audra, especially, seemed touchy, unable to focus long, and irritable when interrupted during her rare moments of study.

I could see grief in Colin, Cecily, and Oliver, anger in Gabriel. That was how it manifested for us, because the truth was becoming real in a new way that was unbearably heavy.

Hannah was never coming back.


	26. 24.

It was coming all along.

I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. Three bell tolls, maybe. An alarm, a sudden change in the air, _something_ to indicate that the world was changed forever.

This is how it really happened: Overnight, there was a thaw, typical in the area for early January, and the next morning the police came up to the grounds with bloodhounds.

It wasn’t much of a search, really. Rumour said that it took less than an hour, and none of us even knew it was happening until after she had already been found.

It was true. She was dead.


	27. 25.

Suicide. It was the word on everyone’s lips, long before any official report had come out.

The pressure was too much. The stress of the program had gotten to her, and so she had jumped off the tower.

That was where they had found her body. She had been buried for three weeks under eight feet of snow, at the base of the tallest tower at the Conolly Institute, the same place where all seven of us had stood only four months earlier. Of course that was the conclusion they would come to. Suicide was the only option that made sense.

I think the worst part of that week was the sharp relief I felt that it was over. The waiting, at least, was over.

I had known that she was dead somehow, for long enough that the confirmation of it wasn’t necessarily sad so much as weighty.

It had happened. The worst-case scenario had become reality, and now all that was left to do was move forward.

-

They found her body at eleven twenty-six am, and the rest of us were notified at two seventeen pm. I’m not certain why I remember these specific numbers so clearly, but those were the precise times. They are ingrained in my brain – if I close my eyes now I can still see the position of the hands on the clock that sat above the fireplace when they came to tell us.

We had been in the library, everyone except Audra, when Dr. Davis and Dr. Rutledge had both stepped into the room, their faces drawn.

I think we all knew before either of them spoke. I had been right in the middle of reading aloud a paragraph about the specific details of Vincenzo Bellini’s life and death, and when I saw the movement in the corner of my eye and recognized Dr. Rutledge’s cane, I stopped midsentence, suddenly unable to speak.

“Oh.” It was the only word that came to mind, and it had left my mouth in a gust.

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Dr. Rutledge said, and then he went ahead and said it as though the words were, in fact, easy. “I have some troubling news. Earlier this morning, as you might know, there was a search of the grounds here at Conolly.”

None of us could look at each other. It didn’t matter that we didn’t know, because the fact of it was staring us in the face.

“Hannah Frazier has been located.”

It was completely silent in the room.

“Her body was taken into town for forensic evaluation, and Dr. Davis and I were called in for identification.”

Audra let out a squeak and began to rock back and forth in her chair.

“What happened?” Cecily’s voice had the slightest tremor.

Dr. Rutledge took a long minute to survey the room. His eyes betrayed nothing. When he spoke, his voice was clear. “She jumped.”

It didn’t feel like the truth, even then.

-

This time, we were called in to the police station in town, since the roads were accessible.

Cecily was irate. “What could they possibly want from us now?” She ripped a page from her leather-bound journal with such force that the book fell off of the bed and clattered onto the floor. “They’ve already drawn their conclusions, haven’t they? They’ve decided what happened. Why do they need our opinions?”

Everybody was handling the news very differently, and Cecily’s method of coping was through exceptional fury.

“It’s just cruel, at this point.” Her mouth was set in a grim line.

The police station in town was small, and a little bit grimy. I had seen it every time I drove through town on my way up to the school, but I had never actually entered the building. It was old, made of red brick, and the stone floor was worn underfoot. The receptionist behind a sheet of plexiglass took one look at us and spoke into a microphone installed in the wall. I couldn’t hear her words, but I saw her mouth form the word ‘Conolly’, and before we were even all in the front door, there was an extended beeping noise, and Detective Everett stepped into the room, closing the barred metal door behind her.

“Hello.” Her voice was formal, but the word sounded foreign in her mouth, a little bit uncomfortable. “I am sad to see you all again under these circumstances.”

The waiting room in the police station was much more austere than the classroom we had used in the last round of interviews. The fluorescent lights would have made anyone look terrible, but our case was extreme. Gabriel looked so peaky I thought he might be sick. The white light cut Oliver’s face into a skull, his eyes shapeless shadows. Audra was clinging to the sleeve of Gabriel’s jacket, her eyes wide. I wondered if she had slept at all in the last few weeks. If she had, her face didn’t show it.

Colin was called in first. As he left the room, he looked back, his fist resting on the wooden doorframe. I wasn’t sure who he was looking to, and I’m not sure he knew either, because after a moment, he gave a brief shake of his head and followed Detective Everett into the hallway.

“What do you think they’ll ask?” Audra sounded like she didn’t really want anyone to answer this, and nobody did.

We didn’t talk much, not then. At that point there wasn’t anything to say. One of our own had jumped to her death, and nobody had seen it coming. I wondered if anyone else felt the claustrophobic guilt clawing at them. I’d had every opportunity to look just a little closer, and I never did. Hannah had seemed fine. There wasn’t another word for it.

I was called in next.

I was led into an interrogation room, exactly like what you might see on TV, except with less colour. Everything was washed out under the white lights. Detective Everett’s skin looked grey. The only colour in the room was in Matthias’s eyes.

“Miss Woodley.” Matthias was watching me closely. “Please state your name and date of birth for the record.”

This interview, it was clear, was much different than the last. It appeared that the detectives were no longer captivated by the case, a detail I found infuriating. The questions were basic: what would you say about Hannah’s mental state in the weeks leading up to the production? How would you, in your own words, describe Hannah’s mood? Were there any indications that she was considering ending her life?

I didn’t have many different ways to say, ‘I don’t know’. That was my only answer, over and over. There were no signs, that I could remember. Nothing about Hannah’s behaviour had given me a reason to worry. She wasn’t depressed, that I knew about. She never spoke about suicide. She didn’t even seem sad.

When I said this aloud, Detective Everett and Matthias looked at each other.

Detective Everett’s voice was very gentle when she addressed me. “Not everyone shows their symptoms on the outside.”

I wanted to protest – I knew that, but that wasn’t Hannah. She wasn’t like that. Then I thought of Cecily, their argument, whatever it had been about. I thought of the note I’d found. I thought of her perturbed silences, the way she would sit on her own for hours at a time, just thinking. Maybe I didn’t know her at all.

After they were finished with their question, I was led out into the other waiting room.

Colin was standing, facing the wall, looking a bit green.

“How was it?” I asked him.

He said, “They really think she killed herself.”

“You don’t?”

He just looked at me.

I grabbed his arm. “Colin. What do you know?”

He shook me off. “Nothing.” He swallowed. “I just… I can’t imagine it, you know? I’m having a hard time picturing her that desperate.”

“But that means, if she didn’t do it…”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I know.”

-

There was a funeral held in the small church. Hannah’s parents were there, as well as a smattering of locals and most of the Conolly student body.

It didn’t quite feel real, standing there in a row near the front of the room. I expected to cry, and I didn’t. I didn’t expect Cecily to cry, and she did, in long shuddering gasps. She didn’t object when I put my arm around her. Rather, she leant against my shoulder, her tears wetting my skin through the fabric of my shirt.

I found out afterward that Hannah’s parents had never left town after the performance, after she went missing. They had been snowed in, just like the rest of us, and had even been up to Conolly as soon as the roads were drivable, because she had never called to say she was alright. It felt odd that we had never known. Down in the town, there were other people worrying about Hannah as more than a star student. She was a friend and a daughter, too.

Dr. Rutledge said a few words near to the end of the service, and it was clear from the very beginning that he hadn’t known a thing about Hannah except her voice. “She was a lovely girl, a good friend, and a hard worker.” He cleared his throat, then coughed. “We are not alone in our sorrow that such a life was extinguished so early.”

Every word was true, but it felt blasphemous. I wanted to shout at him, but I didn’t know what I would say, and besides that, I had to remind myself, it was a funeral.

If anyone knew how to dress for such an occasion, it was music students. The room was a sea of black, each face a universal representation of mourning.

Afterwards, we were a cluster of bodies in the church foyer. I was there, and not. The truth of Hannah’s death was beginning to manifest in my gut. I felt sick, warm, guilty, and the sight of the other five looking just as sick, warm, and guilty was making me anxious and irritable. The guilt was the strangest part. Was it guilt over being alive? Every time I looked at Mrs. Frazier, I felt it wash over me, hot shame. How could I not have known?

“I can’t believe she…” Oliver shook his head. He was made up of half-finished sentences, the end so clear it was unnecessary to finish.

Colin shook his head, casting a glance over the room, where students I hardly recognized were talking in similar somber circles. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Cecily snorted. “It’s a funeral for a tweny-one-year-old. There’s nothing right about that.”

-

Dr. Rutledge was at our next performance class. The cast members for _La Sonnambula_ had all showed up dutifully, as we had every session in the semester. This time, there was a question in the air.

“Clearly,” He was leaning on his cane, “some adjustments needed to be made about casting.”

He pulled a piece of folded paper from his breast pocket, and handed it to Dr. Davis, who unfolded it and passed it down the row of students. Audra saw it first and pressed a hand to the side of her head, almost like it hurt.

“After some deliberation, we have made our final decision on a recast. Many apologies to those of you who have had a change in part who have put in some work already. Those were still valuable hours.”

The sheet reached me. The original names had been struck through, replaced with the new casting.

**Amina** : Hannah Frazier Audra Daly

 **Elvino** : Gabriel Morrow

 **Count Rodolfo** : Oliver Gray

 **Lisa:** Audra Daly Leah Woodley

 **Teresa** : Leah Woodley Cecily Preece

 **Alessio** : Colin Thorpe

 **Notary** : Cecily Preece Elly Ratcliffe

Next to me, Oliver touched my knee lightly with his. “Nice.”

It took me a moment to notice that my name was among those who had been moved, and then another to realize what he meant. In the opera, Count Rodolfo and Lisa weren’t exactly love interests, but almost. I looked up at him. There was barely a ghost of a smile on his face.

I didn’t know who Elly Ratcliffe was, and neither did Cecily, when I quietly asked her.

Dr. Rutledge was talking again. “I encourage you to bring your new music to your teachers individually in your lesson time as soon as you can. It is difficult enough to put together a production in one semester, and it will be an extra challenge to attempt it with two weeks less than usual.”

There was a low murmur among the group as we acknowledged this. I thought of last semester, the pressure we had been under with just a normal schedule.

After class, on the way out, I dropped my binder, scattering pages everywhere. As I scrambled around on the floor, I was surprised when Gabriel dropped to his knees to help.

He made a neat stack of the papers he picked up and handed them back to me.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t reply.

When I looked back to him, he was looking towards the door through which the rest of the class had already exited, his eyes watchful, wary.

“What’s wrong?” I balanced the binder on my hip, trying to stuff the loose papers back into the flap on the inside of the cover.

“Hmm?” Gabriel hadn’t been listening to me, and it was with some reluctance that he tore his gaze away from the door. “What was that?”

There was something about his stance that I found troubling. I asked him again. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Gabriel worried at his bottom lip, glancing back towards the door. It looked at first like he wasn’t going to tell me anything, then he sighed. It was a long, drawn out hiss that he blew out between his teeth.

There was a clattering behind us, as Dr. Davis pushed down a music stand and began packing her bag.

Gabriel watched her carefully. His voice was low, measured so that only I would hear it. “It’s the casting.”

I followed his gaze to the piece of paper on her desk, the names scrawled hastily, just barely visible at this distance.

“It seems a little…” Gabriel crossed his arms. “Well, it’s just that, it’s exactly what Audra was hoping for, you know?”

I was nodding before I even had the time to consider what his words could mean. “But that’s just how it turned out, right? I mean, there’s no way…”

He said nothing.

I let the binder sag in my arms. “You don’t think that – that _Audra_ had something to do with Hannah, do you?”

At this, he looked startled, and a little disoriented, as though I had just woken him from some awful reverie. “No!” His voice was less certain than his words. “No, of course not.” He looked me right in the eyes when he said it, in a way that meant he wasn’t sure.

I couldn’t do anything other than gape at him.

Suddenly, he shook his head, blinking. “What am I talking about? No.”

I laughed a little nervously.

“Look.” He grasped my upper arm, glancing back as Dr. Davis left the room. “Don’t tell Audra I said that, alright?”

My voice was scratchy. “Of course.”

He let go of my arm then, rocked back onto his heels, looking like he might say more, but then he just clicked his tongue and turned abruptly, leaving me standing there in the empty classroom with a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

-

It was inevitable that things would be different once we knew. Hannah, missing, was one thing. Hannah, dead, was another.

Hannah, dead at her own hands. _That_ was the ugliest truth I had ever known.

Of course, it wasn’t the truth at all, but that didn’t become clear for weeks.

Cecily stopped sleeping. This wasn’t a new phenomenon, by any stretch, but this insomnia was not the usual breed. Halfway into the first week she gave up trying, and often I was woken around three thirty in the morning when she would come back into the room.

Colin seemed to be carrying around the weight of his fight with Gabriel everywhere he went. His gaze was often so far away that I thought he wasn’t paying attention in class, his eyes glassy and face pale, but then whenever he was asked a question, he answered it promptly. Somehow, he was both far away and right there in the room.

This was in sharp contrast to Gabriel, who didn’t seem nearly as affected by the fight, though I surmised that it was possible he didn’t remember much of it. Now, Gabriel’s attention seemed to be nearly entirely on Audra. I hadn’t noticed it until our conversation about her, but now that I was looking, it seemed so obvious to me. He watched her intently during meals, classes, or any time we spent together in groups, as though he were waiting for her to say something incriminating.

It was enough to drive anybody mad. I had become extraordinarily paranoid, studying late, waking early, eating at odd times, partly because I couldn’t stand to be around the others, except Oliver. I buried myself in music. The part of Lisa was much more involved than that of Teresa, and so I threw myself into it, working long hours, because whenever I stopped, I began to think about what Gabriel had said about Audra, and that bothered me much more than hard work ever could.

The strangest thing was that Audra was miserable. She had not once given any indication that she was pleased to have regained the lead, in fact, she seemed troubled by it. This alone should have relieved my sudden neurosis over the situation, but I found that then my brain grasped onto a new idea like an aggressive dog and refused to let go. What if Audra’s melancholy stemmed from guilt?

I watched her constantly. Gabriel and I became two vigilant pairs of eyes. I didn’t know what he was looking for, and I’m not sure I would even know what I was waiting for if it had happened, but in that first week I felt certain that something about it was _wrong,_ something was undoing the very fabric that made up Audra, and it was more than just stress. Her voice wavered; her posture was unsure. She complained of frequent headaches and went to bed early every night. There was none of her bravado, none of the constant efforts to prove herself.

It was almost as if with Hannah gone, she had nobody left to compete with.


	28. 26.

Time was blurry, after that. I can divide that second semester into three categories. The first two were easy to define: I thought Hannah had jumped, and then I didn’t. The third was the space in the middle, the liminal time between suspicion and confidence.

It didn’t make sense. I don’t really know how I was so sure of that fact, but something about the circumstances raised my hackles. Hannah couldn’t have ended her own life.

I understood, on some subconscious level that this was a normal objection to have when confronted with this kind of news. Nobody _wanted_ to believe that their friend would deliberately choose death. But this was more than that. This was an anxiety that gripped me at night just before I was about to fall asleep.

Despite this, despite everything, classes went on, masterclasses were still scheduled, and life was propelled forward.

“The show must go on.” Oliver said matter-of-factly, when I bemoaned this fact to him late one night after a choir rehearsal.

“But nothing is the same without her. It’s affecting everyone, even the teachers.”

He looked at me, a little surprised about that I had vocalised these thoughts. “What else are they supposed to do? Cancel the semester?”

I rolled my eyes at him, and he stopped in the middle of the hallway, grabbing my arm.

“I didn’t mean that to be condescending.”

I looked at him sideways. “It was.”

“Sorry.”

It felt like this was how most of our interactions were now, a little stilted, a little awkward. I wanted to go back to the moment in the pub, before Colin and Gabriel had ruined the night, where it felt like we had a genuine moment. Now it didn’t feel like we were in a relationship at all, more like we were just friends who looked at each other a little too long. We talked, but I never let the conversation stray towards anything serious. He was sad and so was I, and I was simultaneously distressed about it and too preoccupied to care.

But he was looking at me now like he was genuinely sorry, like he had hurt me, when really, he hadn’t. I was just being prickly, like I had been for weeks.

I reached for his hand, and the simple gesture brought with it a wave of complicated emotions.

He took my hand and looked at me. Then he looked away, like the act of looking hurt him. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I don’t know how to be honest.”

His smile was a little wry. “I know.”

-

It was after one in the morning when I left my practice room that night. I had thought I was alone.

I wasn’t.

A light was on down the hall, a bright rectangle beaming on to the opposite wall. As I stepped closer, I could hear the muffled sound of harp strings. Cecily.

I pushed on the door. It was unlocked.

She either was not surprised to see me, or she was too lost in thought to notice. Her eyes were red and so were her fingers on the harp strings, rubbed raw from playing. She was pulling at the strings in a methodical way that gave no indication that it hurt, but it must have. I thought she’d probably been playing for hours with the same vague fervor.

I cleared my throat and she looked up. It was a nonchalant gesture, just the slightest inclination of her head, her eyes rising to mine. “What are you doing?”

Her voice was flat, absent. “Practicing.”

I had the distinct impression that she was simultaneously in the room with me and elsewhere, her fingers the only part of her body firmly rooted in the present. My voice was a ghost. “Your fingers.”

Her hands stilled, laid flat against the strings. “This always happens before the concerto competition.”

I had forgotten that she was a participant. “But not this badly.”

She averted her eyes to the way, expression unreadable.

“You’re still doing it, then? The competition?”

“Russo said I’ll win.” She spoked so softly that I could hardly hear her.

Russo was the head of the string department. I knew him by name and not by sight, and even then, only because of Cecily. “Not if you ruin your fingers.”

Her face was desolate.

I could feel exhaustion pulling at me, dragging my shoulders down. My eyelids burned. I could go to bed now, I thought, and not choose to have the conversation. I asked, “This is about Hannah, isn’t it?”

She made no move to speak.

I stood in the doorway in silence for a very long time before I asked, “What happened, with you guys?

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Cecily plucked absently at one of the highest strings on the harp.

I wanted to tell her that I had noticed her grief, but visible emotions went against Cecily’s principles – at least, they had until the last few months – and I wasn’t sure how to approach the topic without starting an argument.

I thought of Cecily’s aggression towards Hannah, paired with this grief that wouldn’t go away, and something twisted in my gut, not quite painful, but bridging the gap between pain and discomfort. “I sort of want to talk about it.”

Cecily bristled, fully present, hackles raised. “It isn’t your business.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that her words hurt, but I was anyway. “We’re friends. Friends talk.”

Cecily fixed me with a very uncannily steady gaze. “We’re roommates. And we never talk.”

I was aware that I had made a tight fist with my hand only when my nails bit into my palms. I consciously relaxed, flexed my fingers. “Don’t push me away just because you’re sad.”

She made a move as if she was going to stand up, but the harp seemed cumbersome and she stayed seated. “I’m not sad.”

I sighed. “Cecily.”

A muscle in her cheek twitched. “I’m furious.” Then she sighed. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

I did so and sat in the chair across from her. I thought about what I had heard from countless professors since the semester began. “It’s normal to feel angry when someone you know commits suicide. It’s even –”

Cecily cut me off. “Don’t tell me you believe any of that bullshit.”

At first, I thought she was talking about the stages of grief, but then I saw the tightness in her shoulders and the wary edge of her gaze. Her statement had been deliberately delivered, and now she was waiting to see what I would do with it.

“Hannah jumped, Cecily.” I was saying it for my benefit, not hers, and she must have known, because she let out a snort and shook her head, raising her arms to play a few discordant notes on the harp.

“Yeah.” She was finding a tune, drawing the notes out of the instrument, but whatever the melody was, I didn’t recognize it. “That’s what they all keep saying.”

“And you don’t believe it’s true.”

She looked exasperated, impatient with my inability to grapple with this dissonant concept. “I can’t believe _anyone_ buys it. I mean,” she waved her arms in the air, “it makes no sense at all.”

“The detectives think she had some kind of private life.” Once again, the words were more for my benefit. I tried desperately to avoid thinking about Audra.

Cecily raised her eyebrows, as though I had made some kind of joke, but I didn’t know where I’d hidden the punchline.

“They said that private people are better at hiding it when they’re sad.” I pressed on. I was paraphrasing, I knew, but it got the general point across. “It’s possible that we just didn’t know she was struggling.”

“Leah.” Cecily’s voice was suddenly earnest. “Look at me in the face and tell me that you think Hannah jumped off that tower.”

Her face was very pale. This wasn’t unusual for Cecily, but tonight it had a peculiar pallor to it, one which told a tale of many sleepless nights, kept awake by thoughts too terrible to give a voice.

“I don’t want to think about what it means if she didn’t.” I said. “I’ve been trying not to.”

“Then tell me you think that this was something Hannah would do to herself.”

Admitting it was terribly relieving. “I don’t.”

For a long time, we were silent.

“Who do you think did it?” She asked me, her voice inquisitive. Her tone made the words sound too casual, like she was inquiring about the weather.

“I’ve been trying not to think about it, actually.” I said. “It’s an awful thought, isn’t it?”

She cocked her head. “It isn’t as awful as imagining her choosing it herself.”

I considered this. Wasn’t it technically murder either way? One way, she was both victim and villain. The other way, she was just victim. I imagined her, standing on top of the tower, her back ramrod straight with purpose. Then I imagined a different version of events, Hannah being pushed, her arms pinwheeling, never seeing her killer. “Wouldn’t it be worse, that way? If she really was killed?”

“She was.” Cecily said this, and then began to play again. This time I recognized the melody. It was the song Hannah had sung at the gala.

“You’re really certain.” A very discomfiting thought crept up before I could tell it not to. “How do you know?”

“I didn’t do it myself, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her voice was sardonic.

“No – that’s not what I was –”

She smirked up at me, and I realized that she was purposely making me uncomfortable.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Then I asked, “If you’re so sure, then who do you think did it?”

My voice sounded significantly less casual than when she had asked the very same question.

Her answer surprised me so badly that I forgot to be annoyed with her. “Dr. Ritter.”

“What?”

“Our staging professor.”

“No, I know who he is.” I shot her a dark look. “Obviously. I’m just surprised. You seem… confident. Why?”

“I don’t have proof, or anything.” Cecily scuffed her foot along the floor, which squeaked rather unpleasantly. “I just – surely you noticed already.”

“Noticed what?”

“Well, he was always kind of creepy around her, right?” She shifted in her seat, repositioning the harp. “The way he would talk to her felt too… comfortable.”

“I saw them.” I remembered it suddenly. “The morning after the gala. They were together in his office.”

“Together… how?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No, not like that. There was nothing inappropriate going on.” Then I remembered his hand on her shoulder, his thumb on her collarbone. “Well, not really.”

I strained to remember the conversation. “She said something about making a mistake.” My chest was constricting. “Yes. That’s what was happening. She was telling him that she had made a mistake.”

Cecily let out a sharp exhale. “Well _that’s_ an interesting development.”

“Do you know what she meant?”

She rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. “You said it was the morning after the gala?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know what exactly she would have been talking about that time, but I remember her saying something to me about a mistake at the gala. She never said what it was, though. Maybe that was the same thing.”

Something about her earlier hypothesis was still bothering me. “But why would he do it?”

“That’s the mess of it, isn’t it?” Cecily ran her fingers through her hair, though she didn’t get far, snagged on a knot. “Maybe he made a move on her and she said no, and he was worried she’d tell.”

“But _kill_ her?” My voice felt empty. “Isn’t that extreme? It’s not illegal to pursue a student, is it?”

“Did you see how he reacted when her body was found? He looked just about beside himself. He took it _way_ harder than the rest of the staff.”

I frowned. “Did you tell the detectives?”

She laughed. “Oh, believe me. I tried to tell them everything, but they spoon fed me the same thing they told everyone. I just hope that means they’re secretly looking into it.”

I considered Matthias and his partner. If they were suspicious, maybe this wouldn’t be the end of it.

“Who were you thinking did it, then?” The question was once again unbearably casual. It occurred to me that it was possible that this was the only way Cecily could talk about it at all.

“I haven’t let myself think about.” I confessed. “What do we do now?”

She looked at me, steady. “Observe.” Then she asked, “Are you going to tell Oliver?”

It hadn’t occurred to me, and I told her as much.

She sighed heavily and looked at me like my very existence was painful for her to watch. “You’re going to have to make up your mind one of these days.”

“About telling him?”

“About him.”

“I did.” I felt guilt washing out my indignation. “After the production. I made my decision.”

“And then you unmade it again.” Cecily said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You bottle things up just as much as I do. Maybe more. Have you talked to him at all about how you’re doing? Have you thought about telling him the truth?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

Her grin was sharp and toothy. “We’re friends. Friends talk.”

A little of the knot released in my shoulders, even though I had known she hadn’t mean it earlier when she disregarded our friendship. I smiled thinly. “I’m going to tell Oliver.”

She nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“He has a good alibi.” I said. “So we know it wasn’t him.”

Her voice was quiet. “That’s three down.”

My voice was hollow. “The whole school to go.”


	29. 27.

I planned to tell Oliver the next afternoon. The problem was, I didn’t know how to begin. I agonized over it all morning, the possibilities of his reaction, the unbearable thought that I would be painting myself as unnecessarily paranoid. I was nothing if not cautious, and so I very carefully constructed my opening statement, and ten others just in case, soft words that could be retracted if he reacted poorly.

Then I pulled him aside into the library in the free half an hour we both had after lunch, and the look on his face was so utterly disarming that I lost everything I had planned to say.

“I don’t think Hannah killed herself.” There was nothing soft about these words, and there was nothing I could say to backpedal.

Oliver was inscrutable, his hands clasped together, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He lowered his head to stare at the carpet and let out a very long breath. “Oh.”

This was so entirely not what I had imagined he would say that I felt helplessness rising up to strangle me.

“I have been… hoping that she didn’t.” He said at last. “But if she didn’t, it means that either it was an accident, or somebody else did it.” He counted out the two options on his fingers, then looked back up at me. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Oliver, I –”

He shook his head. “Sorry. That sounded a lot more aggressive than I meant it to.”

“It’s an unpleasant idea.” I said. “I know.”

“Unpleasant might be an understatement.” He spoke carefully. “But I don’t think I disagree with you.”

“I just don’t think she did it.” My words came out in a rush. “It doesn’t seem _like_ her.”

There was a loud clatter of footsteps in the front of the library, coming towards us. We exchanged a glance.

Colin was thumbing through an old and battered copy of a chromatic harmony textbook. He looked a little startled to see us there when he looked up. “Oh.” He stuck his finger between the pages of the book and closed it. “Hello. What are you talking about?”

It was a very Colin kind of question. I wondered if this was how he always seemed to know everything that was going on in our circle.

I didn’t know how to answer this. How was I supposed to explain that the conversation we were having could have potentially implicated him in murder? I didn’t know what he had been doing the night of the incident.

Luckily, Oliver had an answer prepared. “Mariah.”

This seemed to surprise Colin as much as it surprised me. His eyes shifted from Oliver to me and then back to Oliver. He crossed his arms, textbook pressed against his side, hooked his thumb into the crook of his elbow. “What about her?”

“I was just wondering what happened to her.” I said as lightly as I could manage. “I mean, she seemed so driven, and then she just left.”

To my slight dismay, this comment seemed to bother Colin. He took half a beat too long to respond, and his voice was measured. “Not sure.”

I frowned. “Did something happen to her?”

He seemed to tense, or maybe I was just looking for the reaction, but his voice had tightened considerably when he spoke. “No. Of course not.”

Oliver shifted in the chair, leaning backwards and crossing his legs. “You missed it, but I was just saying that I thought it was odd that she left so quickly.”

“I already told you that I don’t know what happened.” Colin leaned his shoulder on the nearest bookshelf, his arms still crossed. It looked as though something shifted as he thought, but then he managed to rearrange his face. “Health reasons, my guess.”

It didn’t feel like the truth. It didn’t look like the truth, either. Colin was being too casual for this to be everything he knew.

“And then never came back?” Oliver asked.

That was the moment that I realized that this was something he had put some thought towards. It made me feel a little strange, like I was on the opposite end of the usual situation – the one where I was the one keeping my thoughts to myself – and I was reminded that Oliver had his own concerns too.

Colin pushed himself off of the bookcase. “I don’t know. Probably she told the staff and they didn’t tell us.”

It was possible, and I would have believed him, if he wasn’t being so deliberately offhand about it. “Colin, do you know something?”

The face he made when he looked at me was measured, his eyebrows drawn together, eyes narrowed slightly. “No. I’m only speculating.”

It was much more difficult to tell if this was true. I knew though that if Colin had information, I wouldn’t know until he decided it was time to tell me.

He re-opened the textbook to the page he had marked with his finger, glanced down at it, and then back at us. “Have either of you started that Schumann analysis?”

I shook my head. “I was going to tonight.”

“Only a little. I’ve got the framework down, I think.” Oliver was watching Colin carefully.

“Splendid.” Colin turned. “I’ll leave you to it. I still haven’t started that history paper we have due tomorrow.”

He waved a careless hand over his head in goodbye as he left.

“Well, that was strange.” Oliver said, once he was out of earshot. “Did that seem suspicious at all to you?”

“It feels like he knows something.” I rubbed the spot between my eyes with the pads of my fingers.

“Knowing Colin, he probably _thinks_ something.” Oliver’s voice sounded weary. “And he’s not going to tell anybody until he’s sure he’s right.”

He stood from the chair, moving to stand in front of the fireplace with his hands on his hips. “I wish he’d let us in on it. Three minds are better than one.”

I wanted to say that Colin’s brain operated on such a different level from either of ours that I doubted our input would make a difference, but I couldn’t find a way to voice this opinion without it being remarkably insulting. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

Oliver made a noncommittal sound, gesturing with his head and nothing else. He scratched at his chin, staring into the flames.

“What made you ask about Mariah?” I asked.

He shrugged, turning back to face me. “It was the first thing I thought of. I thought it was strange when it happened, and then I realized that we never really heard anything about why she left. And for a while, at least, Colin was _obsessed_ with it. He would go on and on about how strange it was until Gabriel said he’d punt him through the window if he didn’t shut up.” 

“Students drop out of Conolly all of the time.” I said, crossing my arms.

He came to sit next to me on the couch, throwing his arm around the back of the couch so that his fingertips grazed my shoulder. “Not students like that. I mean, she was a first year and she was in the opera production. That’s unusual in itself.” He paused, the muscles in his cheek shifted. “She would have been the next Hannah.”

I didn’t say anything, letting the air absorb his words.

“So.” He said after a moment. His fingers found the collar of my shirt and absently traced the outline. “What do you think really happened to Hannah, if she didn’t jump?”

I let myself relax against him, thighs pressed together, kneecaps touching. “I don’t know.”

“Does anyone else know?”

I nodded. “Cecily. We talked about it last night. And…” It was surprising to me that this part of the confession was the worst. “She thinks it was Dr. Ritter.”

Oliver was very still next to me. Then he laughed, which was the most surprising thing he could have done. “ _Ritter_?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Why?”

“She said it’s because he was always weird around her. Familiar, you know. _Too_ familiar.”

“How so?”

I shrugged, and then I told him about seeing her the morning after the gala.

For a moment, his easy smile faltered, but then he shook his head. “No. Tell her to stop worrying about that.”

“How come?”

For the first time that day, he sounded genuinely amused. “For one thing, Ritter is Hannah’s uncle.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s true. She told me.”

“Why?”

“We were friends.” He said, as though this was obvious. “She told me not to tell anyone, because it would look weird that she had a relative on the panel.”

I realized I was staring at him open mouthed, and closed it with a snap. “Wouldn’t that just be a motive, then? If they were related, maybe there was some crazy thing going on that none of us knew about.”

He shook his head. “He has an alibi, Leah. Everyone in the voice faculty would have had to be there for the casting decision, right? They know it happened between the production and when the list went up, and he’d have been busy that whole time. There would be at least twenty witness to confirm that.”

Oliver’s logic was infuriatingly sound. I sighed, leaned my head back, feeling deflated.

He laughed, incredulous. “What, you _wanted_ it to be Ritter?”

“No.” I said, leaning my head back. “I wanted someone to blame.”

-

Over the next several days, I began to feel hopelessly pessimistic about the fate of this opera production. What had become of us, without Hannah? It felt hugely important to me that we were able to go on, to put on a show, without completely falling apart.

As it turned out, my worrying didn’t matter at all, because the next day Audra lost her mind.

It happened in such a public way that I think nearly everyone in the room felt sorry for her, felt the uncomfortable pinch deep inside that said, _I’m glad it isn’t me._

In the opera, the principal character Amina, now played by Audra, suffered from chronic sleepwalking. This caused the locals to believe that there was a ghost that haunted the town at night, and in a pivotal scene at the end, this spectre that was really Amina walked across a highly unstable old bridge while the rest of the cast looked on in dismay.

I knew Audra had been dreading the scene because once, in the first semester of our second year, she had confessed to me that she was terribly afraid of heights. She hadn’t given me any real indication in the last week to think that she was worried about it now, but that didn’t matter, because right now every emotion Audra wore looked like dread.

When I’d explained to Cecily what Oliver had told me, I was surprised that she didn’t seem that upset that her theory had been debunked, rather, she was angry that Hannah had never told her she was related to a staff member. For some reason, when I pointed out that they hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms for most of the semester, she told me to get bent and left in a huff, so that was the end of that.

Despite knowing that he was probably innocent, Cecily still eyed Dr. Ritter with barely disguised distaste, tracking his every move around the room. I was tempted, briefly, to entertain the idea that maybe she was right and Oliver had been wrong, but it quickly became clear that would have to prioritize my attention elsewhere.

Something was wrong with Audra. If it wasn’t obvious from the moment that she entered the room, pale and drawn, it was when she first eyed the bare bones of the false bridge.

Dr. Ritter assured us that though it had been built to look unstable, it was quite stable, and there was nothing to worry about.

Despite this, her eyes were large as she considered it.

“I hope you’ve reviewed the notes I sent from last rehearsal.” Dr. Ritter paced.

Across the room, Cecily and I exchanged nervous eye contact. Oliver’s hand on my shoulder squeezed, once, and then he let go.

Audra had not yet looked away from the bridge.

“We’re going to run the finale again, this time with the props in place. I think they’ll serve us best if we take adequate time to get used to them.”

Gabriel rubbed his thumb against his chin. He hadn’t shaved, I noticed; stubble shadowed his jaw. Before I could help myself, I thought of that same stubble on my neck.

I backed up into Oliver, waited for the grounding sensation of his hand on my hip.

It never came.

When I looked over my shoulder up towards him, he was staring up at the highest point of the bridge, just as Audra was. I only then realized the significance.

I’d wondered, in the weeks leading up to that point, what Hannah had been thinking up in that tower on her own. Had she been afraid? Now, mind whirling, I was sickeningly sure that she had been.

At first, I thought the rehearsal would be all right. It was just another rehearsal.

It didn’t even last five minutes.

Cecily came to stand next to me, and the two of us watched Audra carefully as she stepped up towards the loft, Colin, Oliver, and Gabriel taking their places below and to either side.

Initially, I believed it was my imagination that Audra seemed unsteady on her feet as her hand wrapped around one of the ladder rungs, but then, as she climbed, her whole body went slack at once.

Cecily clapped a hand to her mouth as Audra collapsed backwards. Oliver, standing with his back to the ladder, took nearly the full brunt force of her fall, knocked to his knees.

Gabriel let out a great shout and leapt across the stage. It was good that Oliver was there, I thought, because though Audra had fallen less than four feet, a blow to the head from that height still would have been nasty.

As it was, Oliver blocked her from falling all of the way, and she rolled off of him and hit the ground on her side. Her wrist hit the stage floor last, with a sharp crack that rang through the auditorium.

Oliver scrambled around, fingers splayed wide over his chest in surprise as Gabriel made it to Audra’s side and knelt there.

That was how long it took for Cecily and I to register what had happened, and along with the rest of the class, we rushed forward to see.

Audra looked dead.

That was my first, ugly thought.

She looked dead lying there, an angelic corpse.

But she wasn’t. After several horrible seconds, she gasped back to consciousness, chest heaving.

Gabriel sat back on his haunches, looking distinctly relieved.

Her wide eyes rabbited around the room, and she tried to sit upright, but Gabriel placed a hand on her shoulder so that she couldn’t.

He murmured something to her, and she lay back.

Her fingers were trembling against the wooden floorboards that lined the stage.

“What’s happened?” Dr. Ritter huffed as he stumbled towards us. “Is she alright?”

Gabriel looked up at him. “She passed out.”

Dr. Ritter’s eyes skittered up to the bridge and back down. His voice sounded a little strangled. “Off of it?”

“It wasn’t far.” I said. “She was only a few feet up.”

I startled at a hand on my shoulder. Oliver had come up behind me.

“She’ll be alright.” Gabriel said, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be good to go in a bit.”

Dr. Ritter pulled aside a wide-eyed curly haired second year girl and whispered something rapidly. The girl nodded and scurried down the aisle and out the door.

“I – I can’t. I can’t.” Audra was shaking. “I can’t. I’m telling you right now.”

“What do you mean, can’t?” Colin asked dryly, leaning against the bridge. He looked, if it was possible, utterly unbothered by her fall.

She shook her head and shrugged Gabriel’s hand off, sitting up. She raised a hand to the back of her head and winced. “I can’t.”

Colin rolled his eyes and pushed off of the bridge, turning and walking back to his place. “Come on. Let’s get going again.”

Audra was still trembling.

“Colin.” I caught his eye and shook my head.

He just rolled his eyes again and glanced at his watch.

Audra struggled to her feet. Gabriel gripped her elbow

“I can do it _myself_.” She wrenched herself free and stood, but looked a little unsteady.

“We can take a little break.” Dr. Ritter sounded uncertain. “We’ll reconvene in ten minutes. Unless…”

Audra didn’t look at him. She was staring out into the empty auditorium, eyes focused on nothing. “I can’t.” She said, her voice tremulous. “I can’t do it anymore. I – won’t.”

Gabriel murmured something in her ear, incomprehensible, and she swatted him away.

Her voice rose. “It’s too _much!”_

Dr. Davis entered through the side door, the curly haired girl behind her, jacket rustling as she hastened down the aisle toward us. “Audra – are you alright?”

Audra whipped around. “I am NOT alright!”

Her eyes were wild, red rimmed. There was something in her expression that I’d never seen before, something wild, desperate.

Dr. Davis, who had just gotten onto the stage, took a step back, startled.

“All this – after – you expect us…” Audra raised both hands to her head, fingers cupped around her ears. “You expect us to just – go on, as if – as if – “

Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder, and she startled so violently that he stepped back in alarm.

Her shoulders shook, but she wasn’t crying, just breathing as though she was.

It was terrible to look at, and I found myself turning away, glancing over my shoulder into the dark as though I might find answers there peering back at me.

“I can’t do it!” Her voice was high, shrill. “I won’t! I won’t do it anymore!”

“You’re just saying that –” Gabriel interjected.

She jerked away. “I am NOT –”

Dr. Davis placed her whole palm on Audra’s arm, and like she’d flipped a switch, Audra deflated.

She cried, then, horrible racking sobs, though her face remained dry. It was somehow worse than watching her break down all those weeks ago.

Dr. Ritter cleared his throat. “Uh, class dismissed.”

We filed out amidst reluctant whispering.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Oliver murmured once the auditorium doors were closed behind us.

“Do you?” I wrapped my arms around myself.

He looked over his shoulder out the window as though it would give him an answer. “No. I don’t.”

-

As it turned out, Oliver was right.

Audra didn’t come to lunch, and she wasn’t at any of the afternoon classes. At dinnertime, she arrived with her head down and didn’t speak for the duration of the meal.

None of us asked her if she was alright. I didn’t really know if she _wanted_ to be asked. But she certainly didn’t look alright.

Gabriel watched her warily, as though he was concerned she might shatter, but she just sat there and she ate, then left without a word.

That was why when Dr. Davis stopped me on the way out of the dining hall, I wasn’t really that surprised.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow, but I waved him off, and Dr. Davis and I walked to her office in silence.

I didn’t say anything when she closed the door behind us, and I didn’t say anything as she sighed and walked behind her desk.

She looked tired, I thought. Dr. Davis always looked a little tired, but she wore it differently now.

I changed my mind. She didn’t look tired.

She looked defeated.

She asked me, “Would you be comfortable taking over for Audra as Amina?”

I blinked at her. “Me?”

Her nod was steady, and so was her voice. She picked up a mechanical pencil and twirled it around in her fingers. “Yes. You.”

Once I was finished being surprised and a little flattered, I only had to consider the possibility for half of a second. “No. It’s too high. I mean, I can’t sing that high.”

I’d disappointed her, I could tell. She tapped a rapid beat on the table with her pencil.

“Thank you for offering.” I said hastily. “I appreciate it, really. It’s just that – well – I don’t think I really could.”

She clicked her tongue once, and stood up. “That’s quite alright. It’s what I thought you’d say, actually.” She began to pace behind her desk. “I’d have encouraged you to say no if you’d been asked by someone else. I wouldn’t have asked myself, if we weren’t in such a bind. Nine years. Nine years I’ve been at Conolly and I’ve never had to recast a lead, let alone twice in one semester.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waved me off and moved to stand in front of the small square window. The tower was visible through it, backlit by the full moon.

“What are you going to do?”

For a long, stretching moment, she said nothing. There was only the sound of the clock on the wall and my own breathing to listen to.

Then her breath caught, and she turned to look at me. “I’ve had an idea. I’ll have to talk to Rutledge about it, of course, but it could work.”

I raised my eyebrows.

There was a gleam in her eye. “How do you feel about playing Carmen again?”


	30. 28.

It was public news by the next day, when Dr. Davis posted the cast list during breakfast.

There was no time to consider how to react before Colin was up, practically leaping over the bench in his haste.

His posture was very still as he looked at it, then he wrenched the list down and brought it back with him, not taking his eyes off of the words. “They’ve changed the whole production.”

It was one of the rare moments where Colin sounded surprised. He stared at it, eyebrows arched, hair falling over his eyes.

“They’ve _what?_ ” Gabriel snatched the list from him, then stared up at me.

“What now?” Cecily held her hand out, and Gabriel passed the page to her wordlessly. She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Carmen.”

Oliver peered over her shoulder as he came back from the line up. “And-“ He looked up at me for half a second before he looked back down. “Leah?”

I looked at him.

“This is what you were meeting with Dr. Davis about.” His voice was not quite accusatory, but almost.

“I –” I hadn’t told him about the meeting, but not because I didn’t trust him. I just hadn’t really believed they were going to go through with the change.

Cecily handed me the sheet.

**Important Notice: Change of Production – Carmen by Georges Bizet**

**Casting:**

**Carmen** : Leah Woodley

 **Don Jose** : Gabriel Morrow

 **Escamillo** : Oliver Gray

 **Micaela** : Audra Daly

 **Francesca** : Cecily Preece

 **Zuniga** : Colin Thorpe

“I didn’t think they’d actually do it.” I said, a little breathlessly.

That was _my name_ at the top of the list. It made me feel a little dizzy.

When I looked up, Oliver was looking at Gabriel with a very complicated expression on his face. He sat down slowly, then looked at me.

I took his hand, squeezed it once. There was a split second’s pause before he squeezed back.

“Well, this ought to be fun.” Gabriel shook pepper onto his eggs, saw me looking, and winked.

Don Jose was Carmen’s lover. Gabriel and I were the leading couple. I was going to have to spend the rest of the semester flirting on stage with the last person on earth I’d have chosen to.

Oliver’s smile was a little stiff.

I squeezed his hand again. “Look at us, off stage _and_ on.”

It was a weak reassurance, I knew. Escamillo was also a love interest in the opera, but not nearly to the degree that Don Jose was.

“Yeah, and then you get stabbed.” Oliver said, and he didn’t smile.

I hadn’t realized he was so familiar with the plot. “Then let’s hope that’s not prophetic.”

I was glad that Audra wasn’t there to see the list, although I wasn’t sure how she would respond. The Audra I knew a month ago would have brought the house down around her, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to face that wrath.

As it turned out, I shouldn’t have worried at all.

Audra took the news with an eerie sort of calm. She wouldn’t look me in the eye, but I couldn’t really take that personally. She wasn’t really talking to anyone, not even Gabriel, which was extra strange because they were together practically every spare moment.

To my surprise, it was Oliver that reacted poorly. Though he claimed it didn’t bother him, I knew he wasn’t fond of the intensive hours Gabriel and I would be spending together. I had no idea if he knew, or even suspected that it had been Gabriel last year, and I wasn’t about to ask. Regardless, I thought that if I was in his position, I wasn’t sure I’d have trusted Gabriel either on reputation alone.

He wasn’t interested in talking about it when I approached him, and instead threw himself face first at the new workload with a sort of deliberate intensity that made me nervous.

It was nearly February. It seemed impossible that it had already been a month and a half since Hannah disappeared, and although the sharpness of that pain was beginning to dull, the stress of changing productions mid-semester sent shockwaves through our group.

Though Gabriel and I took the brunt force of the change, I was surprised at the easy grace with which Gabriel accepted the new role.

After our first read-through, he admitted to me that he was actually pleased about it, considering Carmen was in French, a language he actually spoke, for once, and offered to help me with any issues I might have with pronunciation.

The extra rehearsals slowly but deliberately ground us into a powder. All extra hours were spent in the library, cramming in the extra assignments. Our other professors didn’t seem to care that our workload had essentially doubled, and it seemed that as a group we were buckling under the weight. I found myself constantly paranoid, waiting for an explosion that was surely coming, for someone to crack, but nearly three weeks went by before it actually happened.

I’d just finished an exceptionally grueling voice lesson and was on my way to the library, weariness seeping through my body and digging into my shoulder where my too-heavy book bag rested. I knew the others would likely still be there, but I stopped short when I heard angry hushed voices.

I’d never seen Colin and Cecily angry with each other. Right up until that moment, they’d only ever operated under an assumption of mutual respect, but when I turned the corner, animosity crackled between them.

Colin’s nostrils flared. “If you’re saying she didn’t jump, then you’re saying that someone – one of _us_ – killed her. Someone at Conolly had to have done it. It had to be someone she knew. That narrows the field a whole lot, doesn’t it?”

Cecily’s hands were shaking.

“Is that an accusation you’re willing to make?”

I hadn’t heard Oliver come up behind me, and I jumped when he spoke. “Whoa, dude. I don’t think that’s what she’s saying at all.”

“Maybe it is.” Cecily didn’t look away from Colin. “She didn’t jump.”

Audra, the only other witness to this outburst, had her head bent over her page but was very clearly listening, pencil still, lead tip pressed hard against the paper, knuckles white. “Of _course_ she did.”

“She _wouldn’t_ have done that.” Cecily’s voice edged towards frantic.

“None of you knew her.”

Cecily’s eyes blazed as she whirled on her. “And you think you did?”

“We were roommates.” Audra sounded helpless. “She had issues. I just wish…”

“You wish _what?”_ Cecily snapped. “You wished you could have helped, seen the signs, some bullshit –”

“Yes.” Audra stood. Her expression was so stony that even Cecily stopped mid-sentence. “Yes, I do wish I could have done something. Don’t you think that kills me? That I lived with her and I –” her voice hitched, and she looked over at me once, then away very quickly. “I couldn’t do anything to help.”

I thought Cecily would have a scathing retort ready, but instead she just sat down hard and buried her face in her hands.

I watched Colin as he slammed his books into his bag, irate, then pushed past the table and left with a flourish.

I took a breath, waited for my heart to settle.

Then, trying to refocus, I slipped away through the stacks to a table on the other end of the library, slightly surprised when Oliver followed.

I sat, and then so did he, and I stayed silent, and he didn’t say anything either. I tried to focus on the page in front of me, but it was a very loud silence. Then, because I was sick and tired of Oliver avoiding my eyes, I slid my hand across the table. I didn’t say anything, but I hoped he would see it as the invitation that it was.

I kept my eyes trained on the words of the article I was reading even though they were swimming in front of me, and then, after an unbearably long second, his fingers brushed against mine.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my meeting with Dr. Davis.” I whispered. “I was so nervous.”

He sighed, squeezed my fingers. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust me.”

“I trust you.” I said. “I think you’re the only one I trust right now.”

-

Suspicion, I soon discovered, was a complicated mess to tangle with. In the paperback murder mysteries I’d read years ago curled up in my parent’s basement, the mystery became the protagonist’s whole life. There was a clear string of clues to follow, and that was all they thought about. And there was always a suspect.

It wasn’t like that in real life. In real life, it was just regular life made worse by the knowledge that one of us might be hiding some terrible truth.

There _was_ no clear suspect, either. _Everyone_ was acting unusual. Audra had stopped coming to meals entirely, Cecily oscillated wildly from not sleeping at all to snatching it whenever she could, Gabriel was tired and lashing out at all of us, but the biggest change I noted was in Colin. It was as though a switch had flipped in him sometime in the last few weeks – I wasn’t sure when, exactly – and he’d become a more confident version of himself. More awake, like in Hannah’s absence he had to observe everything with a thousand times the intensity. I found myself often daydreaming about his journal, wondering what he knew. Colin always knew _something_ , and several times, I almost asked him outright, but there was something about this strange new presence in his step that made me reluctant to approach him.

On a Tuesday afternoon, while I was walking to an afternoon lesson, I spotted him lurking under a stone archway. I almost stopped to strike up a conversation, when I saw that Gabriel was with him.

It was strange, not because it was the two of them standing together – I’d noticed they seemed to be oscillating wildly between either spending a lot of time together or decidedly avoiding each other recently, though I’d mostly chalked that up to the aftermath of their fight – but because of the _way_ they were standing together. Colin’s back was to me, and I could see the tension in his defensive stance, but when Gabriel reached across with one hand to grip his shoulder, he didn’t brush him off.

“Watch that trapezius, Thorpe.” Gabriel spoke low, almost so that I couldn’t hear the words, and leaned forward to work carefully at the muscle. “Essential for good breath support.”

At that, Colin ducked his head, but he still didn’t brush Gabriel away, even though they were only inches apart. “Show off.”

“What, just because I was paying attention in our kin classes?”

“No, because you _remember_.”

“Hmm.” Gabriel reached up with his other hand to add pressure, and Colin tilted his head back in apparent relief. “You say that like you _don’t._ ”

At that, a ghost of a smile crossed Colin’s face, gone in half a heartbeat, and even though it was clearly a bizarrely intimate moment, I couldn’t look away.

Gabriel looked up, and he saw me, and he smirked, one eyebrow raised.

I turned away, cheeks flushing. Why I had the sense that I’d interrupted something, I wasn’t quite sure, since for all I knew the two of them hated each other, but there was something strange about the moment that made certain it played in the back of my mind for the rest of that day.

Even though I’d watched Audra endlessly striving last semester, I hadn’t understood how much work it was to be a lead. Audra’s endless striving usually wasn’t a symptom of anything in particular, since that seemed to be her default mode, but I was beginning to understand that playing Carmen was going to require a similar sort of devotion.

It was beginning to sink in. I had a lead, and rehearsals revolved around _me_. Even on the days I was tired, the importance of it buzzed in my veins and all at once I understood, I thought, a part of Audra that I hadn’t before, because now that I’d had a taste of what it was like to be on top, I’d have done just about anything to stay there.


	31. 29.

The last blurry days of January bled out into a dismal February. Every day felt weighted, ugly, marked by long rehearsals, late nights, sleep ripped from eager hands. I was starting to get used to the rigorous schedule that a lead role demanded, but found it odd that somehow, that had started to mean that I was spending most of my time with Gabriel. I’d known that last semester he and Audra had participated in extra rehearsals, but I hadn’t understood how precious those hours were until they were taken up. Often those rehearsals blended into independent study sessions, which I knew Oliver wasn’t thrilled about, but Gabriel was a patient tutor with French pronunciation, and besides, both of us were too tired to even talk about anything that had transpired between us, let alone leave room for anything illicit to take place. The pressure was starting to get to me, or maybe it was the lack of sleep, or both. I was irritable and grouchy, overloaded with extra work, and underneath it all the same urgency whispered that Hannah’s death was more important than any of the rest of it.

I didn’t realize how paranoia would play into it. If it had really been a murder, if I wasn’t blowing things out of proportion, it could have been _anyone_. I found myself evaluating motives, alibis, trying to figure out _why_. That was the problem. It just didn’t make sense. Hannah was lovely – who would want to kill her?

I’d told Oliver the truth. He really was the only one I trusted.

Even Cecily, who I’d talked to about the very issue was acting erratic and strange, and I couldn’t help sometimes wondering if she had lied to me. Something felt off. She had information I didn’t, I _knew_ it, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be. And so even though we’d had that conversation, neither of us brought it up – even if we wanted to, where would we have found the time? Life was pushing us all to our breaking points.

Even private lessons had taken on a new urgency. Dr. Davis pushed me hard, asked for more than I could give, was strict, firm, and persuasive. No matter what it was she asked, we both knew I’d try, and I think that was all that matter. But when she asked for something and I couldn’t do it, I felt it deep inside me.

The winter gala was coming up. We knew it was important, and that I needed to do well, but it felt impossible to add another difficult piece into the mix. Maybe if I hadn’t been balancing a full opera, Verdi’s _Merce dilette amiche_ wouldn’t have felt like the end of the world, but as the situation stood, it was overwhelming in it’s impossibility.

I couldn’t support the final high note. I’d almost – _almost_ – made it through the piece, and was preparing myself for the last note, fingers pressed lightly against the music on my stand, but when I opened my mouth, the sound came out strangled.

Dr. Davis stopped playing. “Leah. Are you alright?”

I was most decidedly not alright, but even I was surprised when I burst into tears.

“Let it out.” She didn’t try to comfort me or come put a hand on my shoulder or anything like that, for which I was grateful. She just stood there and let me feel it. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

I cried. I hadn’t been able to at all in the two months since Hannah died, and it came out in a glorious rush, ugly and hiccuping.

She sighed heavily. “It’s been a tough semester for all of us.”

I swiped furiously at my eyes, suddenly aware that she was a teacher and I was crying in front of her, annoyed and a little humiliated that I’d let the emotions out in such a visible way. She was right, though. There was a catharsis of sorts to it, and I did feel better.

“Actually, it’s been a tough year.” There was something in the set of her jaw that suggested weariness. “First, the incident with the Kennedy girl, and now this. Makes Conolly seem a little…” She trailed off, seeming to be unable to find the right words to explain the problem of it.

My attention had been caught, though, by the first half of the sentence. “The Kennedy girl? Do you mean Mariah?”

She sighed. It was a harsh sound, rough and rasping. “I shouldn’t be talking about that.”

“I didn’t know there was an incident.”

Dr. Davis looked down at the piano, played a few haphazard notes from a Handel piece. Her fingers rested lightly on the keys. “She left halfway through the semester.”

“Yes, I know that.” I said, beginning to feel rather impatient with her. “I thought it was for health reasons.”

She tilted her head as she considered this, then she nodded, though it wasn’t the kind of nod that suggested she agreed. She looked at me and then cleared her throat, propelled by something she must have seen in my face. “Look, I can’t tell you much, partly for confidentiality reasons, but mostly because we don’t really know anything ourselves.”

“But you know there was an incident.”

She looked pointedly out the window. “It seems that way, yes.”

“What sort of incident?”

“I really shouldn’t be telling you anything.” She tugged a hand through her hair, then messed with the sheet music on the piano. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“Was it with another student?”

“Miss Kennedy never said.” Dr. Davis didn’t meet my eyes. Then she sat down very abruptly, played a somber minor chord. “We’d better try that ending again if we’re hoping to stay on task.”

I stared at her. “But –”

She shook her head. “We’ve _got_ to stay on track.”

I couldn’t tell whether her reluctance was really due to her sense of urgency or because she didn’t want to talk about Mariah, but either way, something about it didn’t sit right with me.

No matter how it bothered me, there wasn’t time to push her for answers. That was just how it was that semester. I’d feel like I was right on the edge of learning something important, and then just as soon as I’d had the sensation, I’d be jarred into thinking about something else. There wasn’t room to puzzle anything out under the weighted blanket that was the production.

When I told Oliver and Cecily about our conversation, Cecily turned very somber.

“Hannah said something about Mariah to me, once.” She ran her thumb across her bottom lip. “After Mariah left.”

Oliver frowned. “I thought you and Hannah hated each other.”

Cecily’s eyes flashed. “That’s what she told you, did she?”

“What? No.” Oliver’s eyes widened as he raised his hands in surrender. “I just thought –”

“You don’t know _anything_.” Cecily hissed, then before I could even attempt damage control, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Oliver watched her go, looking befuddled. “What’s that about? What does she know that we don’t? Were they secret friends?”

“I don’t know.” I said, watching her bright hair flash as she disappeared around a corner. “I think everyone has secrets.”


	32. 30.

“Are we going to do this or not?” Gabriel looked annoyed, bored, eyes cast to the lofty ceiling, hands on hips.

We were standing several feet apart on the stage. Though it was only our peers and Dr. Ritter in the audience, I couldn’t digest the tangle of nerves in my stomach.

Maybe it was _because_ it was our peers in the audience. It was _Oliver_ in the audience.

I looked out towards him. The spotlights were on, but so were the house lights, and I could see him clearly. He offered the slightest of nods, but didn’t smile.

I turned to Gabriel. “Okay.”

We were rehearsing the first scene in which Carmen and Don José were alone together, and to say it was humiliating was an understatement. My cheeks and ears had started burning long before Dr. Ritter had even said the words ‘lap dance’ while describing the staging he had in mind for the scene.

I’d been stiff as we blocked out the movements, rigid whenever Gabriel got too close, to the point that Dr. Ritter had stopped us completely to lecture me.

“This is _Carmen,_ Miss Woodley.” He sounded a little pained. “It is a sensual opera. Carmen as a character is entirely sex appeal. You’re going to have to work to find that within yourself. I know it’s in there, we all saw it at the gala. Where is that now?”

I’d just wished that he wouldn’t use words like ‘sensual’ when Gabriel was just behind me, close enough that I could touch him if I moved my hands more than an inch.

Now, Gabriel cast me another sidelong glance that was inexplicably loaded. He held his hand out towards me. “Relax,” he said, as I took it, “it’s just me.”

I didn’t really see how that helped.

“Take it from the break after…” There was a shuffling of papers as Dr. Ritter paged through the score. “Et vous verrez, seigneur?”

I cleared my throat, very aware of the feeling of Gabriel’s hand in mine.

Gabriel spoke softly, so that only I could hear it. “Pretend they’re not here. Pretend it’s just you and me.”

I wasn’t sure that this was a concept I was prepared to imagine. Gabriel looked like treacherous terrain under the spotlight.

I assumed the starting position, one hand held high above my head, the other across my waist, where his fingers clasped mine to pull me.

“Remember, spin, and then dip. Stay down for a beat, then after Miss Woodley’s line bring her back up.” Dr. Ritter instructed. “And remember to feel the rhythm.”

He pressed the start button for the sixth time that day, and the tinny music filled the room.

Gabriel’s tug on my fingers prompted the spin, and I whirled toward him. As we had been practicing, I turned once, and then again halfway so that we were facing each other. Then his hand was on my back and he was dipping me low to the ground, and for a moment, it _was_ just Gabriel and me in the room. He was as close as a kiss.

I couldn’t stop the memories. They flashed by in a dizzying sequence, a dark room, the glint of his eyes, his hand on my waist.

“Your back is too stiff.” He murmured. “Let it relax. I won’t drop you.”

Across the room, I could see Oliver watching us.

Gabriel’s breath was hot on my ear. “Do you need your line?”

I shook my head.

Apparently I was taking too long though, because Gabriel began to speak it quickly into my ear. I would have jerked away if he hadn’t been holding on so tightly. Gabriel at this proximity was troublesome enough – Gabriel whispering rapid French so close that his mouth brushed against my hair was a new breed of difficulty.

I found my voice. “Et pourquoi, s’il te plait?”

He pulled me up out of the dip and broke away, striding to the other side of the stage, then looked to Dr. Ritter, the question visible on his face.

“That was much better.” The professor scratched at his beard.

My heart was beating too fast.

“I liked the whispering.” Dr. Ritter continued. He folded his arms and scrutinized us. “I think we should keep that in. It adds some kind of…” He snapped his fingers three times in a row. “What’s the word? Intimacy.”

All I could think was: _dangerous_.

I couldn’t look at Oliver. I didn’t have to look to know what I would see. I was too warm, flushed, shamed.

“Run it again.” Dr. Ritter instructed.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, tossing a sidelong, carefree grin at Audra.

 _It’s just acting,_ I told myself. _It’s just acting._

Audra was watching us with zero expression. It was impossible to tell what she thought of it, but she did not return his smile.

Gabriel inclined his head to the side. “Shall we?”

I still couldn’t look at Oliver. I took Gabriel’s hand.

This time, I didn’t let my back stiffen when he dipped me.

-

After that, I expected things to be a little awkward between Gabriel and I, but they weren’t. Actually, Gabriel seemed too preoccupied to pay me much attention at all outside of our rehearsals, possessed by an agitated energy that I knew meant he was just as stressed about the gala as I was. I could hear him, sometimes, in Audra’s room, their voices low, murmuring, late at night. In some ways, this was a small comfort, because at least that was normal. More than once I feel asleep to their indistinct voices, and for a brief moment, I could convince myself that I’d been transported to a time before Hannah had died, before anything had turned sour.

But those moments were brief. In the daylight hours, life was laced with poison. I badly wanted to find a moment to sit down with Oliver – even though we spent nearly every free moment together, I felt a disturbing distance between us, especially since that damned rehearsal. I constantly found myself on the edge of telling him the truth about Gabriel, telling him that there was nothing going on, but even as I was thinking it, the moment Gabriel had dipped me played in the back of my mind constantly.

I wanted badly to know what he thought of it, what it had meant, if anything, to him, but he was as inscrutable as ever. Gabriel was always tightly wound, but those days I found myself on the edge of my seat as if waiting for something, an explosion, an outburst, _something._

In the middle of February, in a post-tonal music class, it came.

Gabriel had professed his distaste for post-tonal music from the beginning of the semester – “it’s not _really_ music, is it? – and had completed assignments for the class with pointed contempt. This made me nervous for several reasons, the main one being that the class was taught by Dr. Rutledge, and it was the first and only class we’d take with the principal.

The rest of us were on our best behaviour, studious and as engaged as we could be, but right from the beginning, Gabriel had taken a relaxed, nearly apathetic stance, and made his dislike of the subject clear.

I found myself watching him surreptitiously, often, waiting for the moment he’d voice his thoughts, because it wasn’t like Gabriel to stay quiet.

On a murky grey Tuesday morning, my scrupulous attention was rewarded.

Rutledge walked down the aisles handing out sheets of paper, and when Gabriel received his, he scoffed openly.

Dr. Rutledge paused. “Do you have something to say, Mr. Morrow?”

Beside me, Colin shifted nervously. I saw Audra’s eyes widen as she ducked her head, a curtain of white-blonde hair falling over her face. I frowned, realizing right then that I didn’t think I’d ever seen Audra with her hair down before.

I looked down at my own sheet, saw a table filled with a string of numbers and dashes, prayed that Gabriel wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

“Well,” Gabriel looked down at the sheet, and back up at Dr. Rutledge, who was now back up at the front of the classroom, “Since you _asked_ , I’m just curious – what, exactly, is the point of all of this?”

“The point, Mr. Morrow?” Dr. Rutledge looked entirely unconcerned by the derision dripping from Gabriel’s tone. “The _point_ is to eradicate all traditional sensibilities about music. The traditional western-European foundation is _clearly_ not the only viable background for music theory. The study of post-tonal music drags the mind out of the trenches of historical nonsense and into the future of music, which, might I add, your careers will rely on. The _point_ of all of this is to make you better singers.”

“ _This_ is supposed to help us learn to be better singers?”

A line in Dr. Rutledge’s brow deepened. “Of course.”

“ _This_ is nothing but theoretical nonsense!” Gabriel smacked the paper down in the chair. “This is music for people who are so stuck on theoretical concepts that they forget what music is _supposed_ to sound like.”

“Mr. Morrow!” Dr. Rutledge looked appropriately scandalized.

“What, you think I’m wrong?”

I wished, not for the first time, that Gabriel would get some therapy or something. I made very pointed eye contact with Oliver.

He sat back in his chair, all easy hostility, like he knew before Dr. Rutledge even spoke that he’d have the upper hand.

“Wrong? That’s debatable. Disrespectful? Most certainly.” Dr. Rutledge spoke smoothly, looking down at the papers on his desk. “I expected more out of you, Mr. Morrow.”

“Disrespectful.” Gabriel spoke as though trying out the word, disdain dripping from every syllable. “I’ll take it.”

For a moment, I thought I could see a glimmer of frustration in Dr. Rutledge’s eyes, but it vanished quickly, replaced by grim determination.

Colin coughed quietly into his sleeve, then gave Gabriel a swift kick in the shins, eyes never leaving the open textbook in front of him.

Gabriel didn’t even wince.

“I don’t tolerate disrespect in my classroom.” Dr. Rutledge stacked his papers, aligned the edges to be crisp and even. “Feel free to disagree with my methods all you want, but as long as you’re here, you’ll abide by the basic rules of this institution – respect being the _bare_ minimum.”

“And if I decide I don’t want to be here?”

I couldn’t help it – I looked over at Gabriel, wide eyed. _This is the principal._ I tried to communicate my thoughts with my face, but he wasn’t looking at me. _Don’t be an idiot._

“Failure to pass this class means failure to graduate, Mr. Morrow. Surely I don’t need to remind you of that.”

“I didn’t say anything about failing the class.” Gabriel spoke smoothly. “I think we can both agree that I’m wasting three hours of my week here, when it’s entirely theoretical and has next to nothing to do with _real_ music.”

There was a sharp bang.

Dr. Rutledge had slammed his fist on the surface of his desk. “Out.” He looked incensed. “Get. Out. Out of this classroom.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, but complied, slowly gathering his books.

Audra hadn’t looked up this entire time, but she did then, and when her eyes met Gabriel’s, they flashed with something like a warning.

Whatever it was, Gabriel didn’t heed it. He slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked out of the classroom.

The rest of us were subdued for the remainder of the class, and when Dr. Rutledge finally dismissed us, not a single person spoke until we’d filed out of the room and into the cramped hallway.

Colin looked perturbed, somber as he adjusted the strap of his book bad. He turned to me, glanced down the hallway, and spoke softly, so that only Oliver and I could hear. “I’m sort of worried about him.”

Oliver shook his head. “You’re not alone.”

“Just – has he said anything to either of you?” Colin was now openly scanning the hallway. “About… anything?”

I frowned. “What would he have to tell us?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything. He’s just – acting weird. I know you’re close.” He said, flippantly enough that it wasn’t. “What with all the rehearsals.”

Oliver’s expression stiffened.

“We’re really not.” I sighed. “There’s no time for anything personal. I feel like we talk _less_ since the production started.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but I thought it was probably what both of them needed to hear. Gabriel and I talked plenty, but I’d meant it that there wasn’t time for anything personal. Our interactions boiled down to meaningless drivel like the weather and classes and different ways to approach scenes, essentially, _nothing_. But there was something about practicing late at night, or on the stage just the two of us, that meant that all of the nothing was accompanied by a lot of very loaded eye contact.

I couldn’t tell whether the words had had their intended effect, but at least then Oliver leaned towards me, pressed a light kiss to the side of my head, then waved to Colin. “I’ve got to get to a lesson. See you after lunch?”

I nodded. “Alright.”

I half-expected Colin to leave when Oliver did, but even when Oliver had rounded the corner, Colin was still watching me, gaze pensive.

It occurred to me all at once what this might be about. I crossed my arms. “You know it’s – not like that with me and Gabriel, right?”

Colin looked at me square in the eyes. “Not like that right now, or not like that ever?”

I blinked, startled. “What are you implying?”

I wondered if it had been Gabriel or Cecily that told him. They were the only people who knew, and I’d trusted them fully. What would they have had to gain from telling _Colin_ , of all people? My thoughts darted toward his journal. I wondered, not for the first time, whether I’d ever get to see the contents.

He raised his hands. “I’m just wondering.”

I shook my head. “Not like that ever.”

I wondered if Colin could see past the lie, but I shouldn’t have worried. Colin seemed preoccupied as he fiddled with a button on the sleeve of his blazer. “He hasn’t said anything – about me – has he?”

“About you?”

He looked up at me. “Anything… strange.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of what he was really asking, whether he was asking whether Gabriel seemed _interested_ in him. Then, at a loss, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, we don’t really talk.”

Colin sighed, then shook his head. “Stupid of me to ask.”

“What were you thinking he’d said?”

Colin shrugged. “Nothing special. Just – he seems off recently. I wondered if…”

Whatever he’d wondered, I never knew, because he shook his sleeve back to glance at his watch and swore. “I’ve gotta go.”

I watched, feeling nonplussed as he scurried away down the hallway. But I had to agree with Colin, Gabriel _did_ seem off, and as much as I knew he didn’t particularly care for post-tonal; I never would have expected that kind of open disrespect.

I had the terrible sensation that this was it for Gabriel – how could anyone expect to speak to the principal that way with no consequences? Gabriel’s chances of graduating from Conolly were grim if he didn’t pass this class, but that wasn’t what had alarmed me. What had alarmed me was his lackadaisical manner, as though he didn’t _care_. It was a show, I knew, but it was so eerily convincing that for a moment, I had felt like it didn’t matter to him whether he graduated or not.

But the next day Gabriel was back in his seat, and he didn’t speak out again. Whatever had happened, whatever Rutledge had said to him – none of us knew, except maybe Audra – it had worked.


	33. 31.

February reading week was a somber affair.

Cecily’s aunt, who lived in Calgary, came up to Conolly to whisk Cecily away for a weekend of skiing, leaving me in an empty room. Oliver stayed over most nights, even though the bed wasn’t big enough for both of us. Though I hadn’t expected it, those skin-on-skin-limbs-tangled nights inspired a closeness between us I hadn’t felt since that very first night we’d been together, and as the chill between us dissipated, I felt myself start to relax, bit by bit. Maybe it would be alright, after all.

I fell asleep every night with my cheek against his chest, dreading Cecily’s return. I’d forgotten how safe it felt to be so near to him, how it could almost make me forget, warmth in my bone marrow, between my lungs, in every place I touched his skin. We didn’t talk, at night. It was easier not to talk.

At first, we didn’t talk during the day, either, but conversation came back to us slowly, and in the open space of a free schedule, we returned to normalcy there, too. It felt like the further we got from Hannah’s death, the easier it was to pretend like it hadn’t happened, at least, not as it mattered between us, and slowly, I started to see the side of Oliver I had liked so well when we’d first dated: laughing, joking, flirting even when we were alone.

One day, in the library, as I desperately tried to stuff the lines of the last act into my drowsy and reluctant brain, Oliver sighed heavily.

I looked up.

He stood in the space between the stacks, one hand resting against the wooden frame.

“What?”

He sighed again, looking perturbed. “I think Gabriel is cheating on Audra.”

I blinked, repeated. “What?”

Oliver looked a little sheepish as he repeated himself. “I think… Gabriel might be cheating on Audra.”

“What, now? Or generally?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

I shrugged, waving him off in a vague gesture. “Why do you think that?”

Oliver leaned against the bookshelf. “The other night, I ran into Audra when I was coming back from the practice rooms, and then when I got back to the room to grab a different binder, Gabriel told me not to come in.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So?”

“So, he only does that when he and Audra are… well, you know.”

“And that _works_?” I flattened my palms against the table. “You just… don’t go in? Why haven’t _we_ done that?”

Oliver flushed, shook his head. “You’re missing the point. Gabriel _only_ does that in that specific situation. ‘Don’t come in’ is sort of Gabriel code for ‘I’m getting laid’.”

I understood. “Oh. And you saw Audra, so she can’t have been in there.”

“I just – I’ve been thinking about it, and I can’t think who it would have been.”

“What, besides literally _anyone_?” I responded dryly, looking back down at the script.

“What does that mean?” Oliver sounded indignant.

I looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Come on. Gabriel would go after anything that moves.”

“I mean, maybe he used to be like that, but I thought he’d evened out, since… you know. Hannah. We talked about it. He said… he was serious about Audra.”

I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped as I picked up a highlighter and attacked a paragraph.

“No, really. He said that it just made him realize how short life is.”

“ _Gabriel_ said that.”

“He did.” Oliver crossed his arms. “He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

I kept my eyes focused on the page. _Yes, he is._ I kept my voice light. “Sometimes people just… say things. Some leopards can’t change their stripes.”

Oliver laughed. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

Realizing that I was coming to a dead end in my memorization and desperate to change the subject, I let the pages fall closed and stood, walking to where Oliver leaned against the shelf. “What’s the real saying?”

“Tigers.” He said, smiling when I touched his arm, straightening, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “ _Tigers_ can’t change their stripes. Leopards have spots.”

“Hmm.”

“I just – I’ve always felt weird about not telling Audra. When he’d… experiment. That’s what he always called it.”

I wrinkled my nose, trying to ignore the fact that _I_ had been an experiment. “Stop thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Stop thinking about them.” I reached up, caught a hold of his tie. “I don’t want to think about Gabriel or Audra right now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” He was smiling though, like he already knew.

“Shut up.” I tugged him down to me so that our noses touched. “Okay?”

He smiled indulgently, but he didn’t kiss me.

Then his smile faded, and we were left standing there, looking at each other. I felt, abruptly, the weight of the semester there like a physical thing between us.

“I miss when things were simpler.” I whispered.

“Me too.”

“I liked when it was easy to be happy.”

That was when he kissed me, finally, once, then whispered, “We can try anyway.”

“How?” I whispered, reaching up to curl my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “How can we try to be happy when everything is so terrible?”

He kissed me again, pulled me closer, let his fingers drag down my spine, and murmured. “Sheer force. Determination. Something like that.”

“Oliver.” I pulled away, let my hands fall. “Oliver, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Hannah wedged her way into my thoughts, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

“What?”

I shook my head, but the thought was escaping before I could catch it. “What if – if we’re right, and it wasn’t an accident… What if it was one of us?”

“What – you and me?” He touched my forehead. “We were _together_ that night.”

“I remember.” I leaned into his touch. “No. I meant out of the rest of us. Our group. Us who knew her.”

“It seems likely, doesn’t it?”

I exhaled slowly. “Can you let yourself think that? That it was any of them? There were hundreds of people there that night for the production. It could have been a stranger.”

“Why would a stranger do that?”

“I don’t know, crazed jealousy?”

Oliver muttered darkly, “If we’re using crazed jealousy as a motive, I can think of a different candidate.”

I pulled away from him, blinking. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I’m not serious.” He said. “Look, I’ll ask Colin and see if he knows anything.”

“He won’t tell you.” I said immediately. “You know how he is.”

“Then I’ll steal his journal.”

“You will _not_.” I laughed. “He’ll push _you_ off the tower.”

The joke was in bad taste, but he smiled anyway. “Look, this is an impossible situation, right? There’s no way to know. Right now, we have other things to focus on.” He touched my hair. “Come on. I’ll help you memorize.”

“That is _not_ what I thought you meant by other things.” I folded my arms.

He grinned. “Come _on_.”

I was only halfway present as we went over pronunciation, the familiar words finally starting to roll off my tongue. Even though Oliver had been joking, the idea had burrowed into my head like a tic. Would anyone have killed Hannah out of jealousy? Was anyone I knew capable of that?

I didn’t let myself think of the name.


	34. 32.

The rest of reading week slid by in a dizzying blur, over too quickly, and when classes started again, they did so with a vigour that reminded me at once what was at stake. I was swept along in the current alongside the rest of my classmates, struggling to stay afloat.

I was so nervous about the upcoming gala that I was starting to feel sick whenever I thought about it. I wasn’t allowed to sing anything from the show, and the only other piece I had anywhere close to ready was the Verdi aria. The ending was still in shambles, and no matter how many times Dr. Davis assured me it would come together, I considered the prospect of performing the piece with dread. There were only a few days left, and I spent hours of them locked away in the practice rooms, nearly drowning myself in tea with honey, feeling at once a deep appreciation for the stress Audra had been under last year and resentment that she’d managed to do it all with apparent ease.

Now, though, Audra looked awful. Gone was the girl who arrived to class looking like a catalogue model. Now, Audra’s style was distinctively more relaxed, and once she’d come to watch a masterclass in street clothes instead of the distinctive Conolly uniform, hair still wet from showering.

I might have ribbed her for it if that was the only area she was flagging, but Audra was falling behind in school too, openly admitting to skipping readings and classes. I was nearly constantly distressed by her dismal apathy, even more distressed by what it might mean. This wasn’t the sort of Audra I could make fun of. Right now she looked as though she might shatter at any moment, topple over at the slightest breeze.

 _If we’re using crazed jealously as a motive, I can think of a different candidate_. It was obscene to even consider it. But I was considering it.

I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Gabriel hovered around her near constantly, and once, late after a rehearsal, I overheard him talking to Dr. Ritter about her, which I found strange not only because I hadn’t realized the two of them were close, but because he sounded genuinely concerned.

The day of the gala, I spent the afternoon lying face-down on the floor of our room, ignoring Cecily’s pleas to join her on a walk. I was so nervous that the thought of moving at all was accompanied by a wave of revulsion so strong I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from gagging.

Eventually she gave up, and called Oliver in.

I heard him come in, kept my eyes squeezed shut even when he laughed helplessly. “What are you doing down there?”

“Being miserable.”

“Why?”

I paused, nose squashed against the carpet. “I’m going to be bad.”

Oliver walked around the bed, and then even though there wasn’t really room, he got down and lay on the ground next to me on his back. “No you aren’t.”

I knew I was being obnoxious and pouty, that I sounded like _Audra_ , but I couldn’t stop. I turned my head so that my cheek was pressed against the carpet fibres. “I’m going to disappoint everyone.”

“You’re not going to disappoint anyone.”

“They’re all expecting a Hannah. I’m not a Hannah.”

“You don’t have to be a Hannah.” He said. “You have to be a Leah. And try your best, that’s all.”

“You sound like my mother.”

He hesitated. “Are they coming?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t actually spoken to them since well before Christmas with the exception of one stilted phone call in late January. I’d told them I’d gotten a lead role, but it hadn’t been as satisfying as I’d thought it would be. There was still an ache behind my sternum, a longing for _something_ , but I didn’t know what it was.

“Well that’s… good, right?”

“I think so.” I groaned. “Can you turn emotions off? Is there a button for this? I just want this to be over.”

“Hey.” He said, and nudged me with his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be great.”

He was wrong.

-

The audience was restless tonight. I could feel it, hear it in the low murmur before the last portion – our portion – of the show began.

We sat in an even row along the side of the side, each of us dressed to the moon, Conolly’s best and brightest.

I didn’t feel like the best or the brightest. I just felt a little ill.

Dr. Rutledge crossed the stage toward the podium. Down the row, I saw Gabriel shift, expression even.

I wondered, not for the first time, what Rutledge had said to him. He leaned towards the podium, his first words drowned out by a squeal of feedback.

I winced.

“This gala is,” He began, once the sound had died down, “a most unusual night for this school, for several reasons, but there is one that rises above them all.”

I felt very aware of everything all at once, the glare of the spotlight on the glossy stage floor, my own exhale against my lips, the stray cough from the blackened auditorium.

“It must be acknowledged that the students on stage tonight have faced one of the greatest trials in life; the loss of a friend and colleague.”

I hadn’t even considered that there might be a tribute to Hannah tonight. A quick glance down the row told me that the others hadn’t expected it either: Colin’s brow was furrowed as he observed Rutledge, and Gabriel put a hand on Audra’s shoulder, who stared at the ground looking stricken, skin milk white in the harsh stage light.

Dr. Rutledge was still talking, but I’d missed most of what he said. I tuned in just as he said the words, “A moment of silence in memory of a bright spot in Conolly history.”

On my left, Oliver let his hand fall between the chairs. I reached down, squeezed his fingers.

Dr. Rutledge stood, head bowed, the light shining through his thinning hair onto his shiny crown, glinting off of his glasses. I had to look away.

To my right, Cecily’s hands shook, and when I saw her face, I averted my gaze abruptly, shocked by the white-lipped fury I saw there.

The silence was the most unnerving part of all of it.

What was I supposed to be feeling right now? What should I be thinking? There wasn’t room for thinking in the heaviness of that silence, a silence meant for people who hadn’t even known what they’d lost, people who knew Hannah only by her sound.

“Thank you.” Rutledge’s voice startled me. “Now, without further ado, on behalf of the Conolly Institute, I present to you the vocal graduates of nineteen eighty-eight!”

The audience provided polite applause. It might have been just me, but I thought it sounded apprehensive.

The night began then, truly. Nerves ramped up, I could feel sweat dripping down my back, even though I was freezing on that stage, but I schooled my features. Pleasant, even. Breathe.

My colleagues all performed, but the songs blended together in my head, murky. There was Audra on stage, tiny, resilient, hair shining white-blonde under the light; Gabriel next, captivating and ever assured; Colin’s silhouette stark and strong; Oliver, steady, easy; Cecily, skill borne of fury, wound tight and elastic.

And then it was my turn.

Nerves tripped against my throat as I stood, heartbeat loud in my ears and tapping in my fingertips.

What were they expecting from me, out there? What did I have to give that they hadn’t seen a thousand times over?

Revulsion crawled through my chest, slipped under my collarbone, a swift dagger, piercing awareness. I was a fool for ever wanting this moment. Now that I had it, I understood that I’d been rotting this whole time, right where I stood, while I smiled and worked and triumphed and revelled I’d been heaving, fraying, dying.

The darkness of the hall was alive and it wanted me stripped down to bone.

Oliver’s voice in my head. _You don’t have to be a Hannah. You have to be a Leah. And try your best, that’s all._

My best was her every day.

I wasn’t ready.

I smiled anyway, as though I was confident, but my hands shook. The orchestra began, lively, joyous, even.

When I opened my mouth, I was nearly surprised by the sound. Practice, it seemed, had paid off. My voice wasn’t phenomenal, not tonight, but it wasn’t the disaster I had expected, either.

_Sogno beato, caro delirio._

_Blissful dream, dear delirium._

My heart snagged on the notes of the song, the thrill of the orchestra. Maybe I’d be alright. I was a bird, soaring, my voice carried me high over the auditorium. For the briefest moment, I was transported somewhere else, to another time, up towards a different, brighter, newer version of myself, magnificent in _possibility._

Then I remembered the end, and even as my mouth moved around the words, my heart dropped back down to the stage.

I thought of the last note coming, that last, high note. I thought of the countless times I’d stood in Dr. Davis’s office and botched it.

I thought of Hannah standing in this very spot five months before, astounding us. Nothing I was doing up here was astounding. I was a shadow. A predictable shadow.

It was a mistake to think about her.

I knew the note wasn’t going to come out right before it had even started. It was one of those moments I thought I could see from outside of myself – red lipstick, eyes wide and surprised as the high note wobbled and then cracked.

The orchestra played the final chords, and the audience was applauded, but I felt none of the furious joy that usually accompanied the end of a performance. Instead, my cheeks burned, skin tight as I tried to smile, as I heard more than saw the rest of the group stand up.

Dr. Rutledge didn’t come to the stage. I couldn’t remember whether he’d come to the stage at the end of the last gala, or whether his absence was a symptom of my spectacular failure.

I stood on the stage, smile frozen, as the group joined me, smile frozen, as we bowed as one, smile frozen, as we dipped back up, smile frozen, as the lights faded out. My heart dripped black rot.

We waited for the applause to fade out before we filed off the stage.

In the wings, I jerked at the touch of a hand on my waist.

It was just Oliver.

“You don’t have to say I was awesome.” I was possessed by restless annoyance, and though I knew it was only my fault, my tone still stabbed towards him.

He didn’t say anything at all, just took my hand, squeezed it once.

I didn’t want to go outside this time, to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to have to look Dr. Davis in the eye. With a single note, I’d dropped to the bottom of the barrel of Conolly graduates to be considered.

There wasn’t anything to say to make me feel better, and Oliver knew it. I stopped walking, waited for him to let go, to leave with the rest of them, but he didn’t.

“Look.” He shook his head. “It was one mistake. You still have the opera coming up.”

I watched Audra as she left, following Gabriel out into the entrance hall. “I might have just convinced them all not to bother coming to the performance at all.”

“Come on.” He scoffed. “Because of one note? The rest of your song was great.”

“It wasn’t _stable_.”

“It was.” He said. “I swear it was, it was only the end that –”

“The _end_ is what matters.” Annoyed, I let go of his hand, picked up my skirt. The deep purple satin shifted, gleaming, in the dim light, the fabric too tight around my waist. “That’s the shining moment of the piece, and I – I messed it up.”

“Hey.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s _okay_.”

I shook him off. “Just – I need a second. Go on without me.”

He looked skeptical, but to my relief, he didn’t argue, just sighed heavily and then retreated through the door towards the crowd that waited.

I leaned against the cool cement wall, grateful for the relief against my flushed skin, trying to prepare myself for the hour to come. I was rattled, and more than that, humiliated. How was I supposed to go out there and sell myself as Carmen when I’d flopped so spectacularly? Carmen was confident. Carmen was self assured. Carmen took no prisoners.

I was a captive of my own mind. How could I transform this shattered thing I’d become into somebody they would all want to pay to see?

I took a breath, pushed off of the wall, and straightened my shoulders. I could do this. I _would_ do this.

Meeting the audience members was hell. As the lead in the upcoming production, I was peddled like some kind of object for sale, pressed on all sides by congratulations that burned false on my skin. I knew I’d disappointed Dr. Davis, I could _feel_ it, but she wouldn’t say the words, just offered me a bright smile that didn’t meet her eyes as she introduced me to scouts and program directors, some I remembered, most of them old men, their faces muddying in my mind. Champagne flutes were passed around, and the fabric of my dress cut in, suddenly tight, grating. I’d thought the embarrassment would kill me tonight, and it turned out that all along I’d just be suffocated by this stupid dress.

The hour passed in agonizing five-minute segments. I’d sworn I would never drink again like I had at the last gala, but now I itched to muddy my frantic thoughts, subdue this creature.

Eventually, though, the crowed thinned.

I was too warm. I was strangled by the fabric around my waist. I wanted to disappear into the floor, let it swallow me whole, be _done_ with this.

I wandered out of the hall and down to the after party alone, discontent and misery lurching with each step. The shoes I’d bought were beginning to wear hot spots into my ankles. I’d have to wear them in before the show.

The after party was even warmer, louder, more stifling, than the introductions. Bodies crushed against each other in the sweaty heat of the basement, drinks flowing, raucous laughter around every corner.

At the first opportunity, I ducked up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony, not minding that it was still March and therefore not warm enough to be out in a dress like this.

The cool air flooded my senses, and all in a rush, I was awake for the first time all night. I let out a shaky exhale, letting the door snap shut, closed my eyes and leaned back against it.

I wasn’t too warm anymore, actually, the cold air bit at my skin, the chill already uncomfortable.

I opened my eyes, prepared to turn back around, when I saw that I wasn’t alone.

Gabriel leaned against the railing, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, regarding me with mild surprise.

“What are you doing?” I was surprised by how ragged my voice sounded, how humiliation still warred in my chest when he looked up. “That’s terrible for you, you know.”

“Fuck if I care.” He took a long drag from the cigarette.

I let out a helpless impatient laugh. “Gabriel.”

He put the cigarette out on the stone wall, dropped it onto the dirt, and ground in with his heel.

I looked at the stubbed remains for a long time even after he’d stepped away and leaned out over the metal railing, peering down. My breath fogged in front of me and I stepped through it to stand next to him, teeth chattering.

He shrugged off his jacket, handed it over. I glanced over my shoulder before I took it. “Are you okay?”

“Why,” He sighed, “Do you ask?”

I allowed myself one sidelong glance.

Gabriel leaned on the railing and stared pensively out over the grounds, at the fading patches of ice on the lake. He’d undone the top button of his shirt, collar askew, dark shadows under his eyes.

I caught the moment his eyes darted toward me and away. “You look tired.”

He laughed, the sound barely perceptible over the sound of someone shouting cheerily somewhere inside. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I am.”

I knew I should probably go back inside, but even the cool air hadn’t been able to calm my raw nerves. I stayed.

He said, “I don’t usually smoke.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me.” I replied, then, “I know you don’t.”

He shook his head. “Just when life is… you know.”

“Hmm.” I nodded. “Audra problems?”

Gabriel frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Curiosity burned. “Why did you guys get back together?”

He looked a little dazed. “Why do you care about that?”

I felt my cheeks burn, and I looked away, determined not to let him see. “I don’t. I’m just curious. It seems like things got pretty bad with you guys.”

“Someone’s feeling nosy tonight.”

“She _hit_ you. We all saw it. That was… something else.”

“I guess it was.” Then he laughed. “Kind of hot, though.”

“Gabriel.” I turned toward him. “I’m serious. Why?”

“Well…” He clasped his fingers together, “I guess it’s because we love each other.”

Even the way he looked at me was sardonic, one eyebrow raised, head tilted sideways.

I just rolled my eyes, grasped the cold railing, willed the numbness to reach the rest of me. “I’m being serious.”

He sighed.

“I just know she can be sort of manipulative sometimes.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. “No. It’s not like that. It’s… she’s something else.”

“I think we’ve all known that for a long time.” I murmured. “Something else. That sounds about right.”

“She’s like a drug, in some ways.”

“Oh?”

He sighed again, shook his head. “That _ass_. It just won’t quit.”

I rolled my eyes. “ _Nice_. Okay. Thanks for the chat.”

I was turning to leave when he grabbed me by the arm.

When I turned back, he was very close. Too close.

I took a tentative step backwards.

“Leah, I –” he seemed to be struggling for the right words. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

I frowned at him. “What does that mean?”

He let go of my arm, shook his head. “It means… nothing. It means nothing. I – don’t know.”

“Gabriel – what –”

He sidled past me, and before I could snatch his sleeve, he was gone.

I stood outside for several more bewildered seconds, trying to make sense of what he’d said. He hadn’t known what else to _do_?

The murky heat of the room washed over me as I stepped inside, greeted by a wall of sound so overwhelming that it took me a second to realize I recognized Cecily’s voice shouting over the din.

I shouldered my way through the crowd until I found her. To my further surprise, she was face-to-face with Oliver, who had his eyes trained on her index finger pointed at his chest.

Colin was watching them, wary. I sidled behind him. “What’s going on?”

“Something about Hannah.” He barely turned his head.

“When? I want to know when.” Cecily’s nostrils flared.

Oliver’s eyes widened when he saw me standing there, and he shook his head, raising his hands. “I don’t really feel comfortable talking –”

“I don’t care if you’re comfortable, Grey.” Cecily hissed. “None of us are comfortable, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Why do you even care?”

I’d never seen Oliver looking quite so uneasy, like this was a conversation he’d do anything to squirm out of.

“My _god_. You know why. You all know why. Come on.” Cecily lashed out with her arm, eyes blazing.

“Genuinely, I don’t.” Oliver looked nonplussed, backing up as Cecily jabbed him in the chest.

I stepped forward. “What’s going on?”

For a second, I thought I saw a flash of something like fear in his eyes before he shook his head.

“He,” Cecily’s voice almost broke, “Slept with Hannah. Did you know that?”

“Did I – you _what_?” I blinked, turned to Oliver. “Really?”

“I –”

Cecily snarled, incensed. “Admit it!”

“Yeah, alright? Once.” He threw both hands in the air. “ _Once_. It didn’t mean anything. We both decided it would be smart to stay friends and pretend it hadn’t happened.”

Cecily – for some reason – was near tears. “ _When?_ ”

Oliver looked miserable. “Leah – I – I was going to tell you.”

“Wait – it was when we were together last year?” Something sharp stabbed at my rib cage. Was that anger or relief?

His eyes widened; he shook his head. “No! No. It was in the fall. After the last gala.”

Something in Cecily’s stance relaxed. “Oh.”

Beside me, Colin rolled his eyes.

Oliver bristled. “Why does it even matter? It was a one-time thing. It wasn’t – it was nothing.”

“Hannah isn’t – wasn’t – nothing. She was – she –” Cecily appeared to be struggling for words.

“Spit it out, Preece.” Colin’s voice was lofty, a little disdainful.

I understood all at once. Cecily’s dramatic ups and downs, their silent arguments, her distaste for Hannah. Could have been…?

“Cecily…” I stared at her. “You and Hannah?”

She stood, stoic, hands clenched into fists by her sides. Then she nodded, jerkily.

I threw my hands into the air. “Great. Okay. Did anyone besides me _not_ sleep with her?”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t feel like I need to clarify that I didn’t, but I am anyway, in case you were concerned.”

I laughed, helpless. The sound stuck in the back of my throat.

“How did you even find out?” Oliver asked Cecily, a note of accusation in his tone. “I only told…” He trailed off, eyes landing on Colin. “Ah. You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Colin raised both hands. “I didn’t _say_ anything, before you get pissed at me.”

“It was in everything you _didn’t_ say.” Cecily snarled.

“Wait.” I blinked, shook my head rapidly, a thousand emotions whirling through me at once. I snatched blindly and caught one: bewilderment. “What?”

“Leah, I’m sorry, I –” Oliver waved his arms. “I was going to tell you.”

My voice came out sounding a million miles away. “I think we should talk.”

He nodded, movement jerky and robotic. Even in the dim lighting, orange glow distinctly unflattering, I thought he was the prettiest person I knew. I wondered: had Hannah thought so? Who had she been, and how had I not known who she was at all?

“Are you done interrogating me?” Oliver rounded on Cecily, who looked up at him, defeated. “It wasn’t anything. It was – once, and never again. We never even _talked_ about it. Whatever you two had going on, I wasn’t ever in the way.”

Then he turned to me, and I saw that he was afraid. Of what? Of _me_? Of my reaction? Of course, he knew that I had no right to be upset, no right to any feeling at all on the matter, and besides that, watching him standing there at a loss with his shirtsleeves unbuttoned, looking hesitant and tall and elegant, I couldn’t find it within myself to be upset. I just wanted to be _alone_ with him somewhere.

I took a step toward him. “Can we talk?”

He nodded. “Please.”

I turned and walked away, my heartbeat thrumming in my chest, mind racing. They’d slept together at the _gala_? Of course, I’d been busy – distracted – but how had I missed it?

I was surprised by how affected I was by the knowledge that he’d been with Hannah. I wasn’t upset, not exactly, though it definitely felt strange, because Hannah was gone, and he must have thought about it since then, thought about _her_ , but – I wasn’t upset. The idea made my veins buzz with something that felt almost like delight.

Oliver followed me out of the party and down a series of twisted hallways, until the sound of the music faded to a dull vibration.

I turned to him.

“Leah, I —”

I grabbed him by the collar and kissed him before he could finish.

For half a second he was stiff, surprised, then he softened and kissed me back.

Relief flooded through me at the contact, white-hot. The rest of the night be damned, I could live in a moment like this indefinitely, Oliver’s lips against mine, his hands, tentative at first, drifting around my waist, the energy between us languid for only a split second before it burst, furious, wanting. 

I didn’t care that it had all gone wrong. I didn’t care that everything was _always_ going wrong. I gasped into his mouth, “I need you to take my dress off.”

He pulled away, ignoring my desperate sound of frustration. “I thought we were going to – you know – _talk_ about —”

I shook my head, yanked him back down, but I only had a second before he’d pulled away again.

“Aren’t you mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look mad at you right now?”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Honestly? Hard to tell. Are you?”

I was busy enough trying to undo the top button of his shirt that his words were barely registering. “Haven’t decided. I think – no.”

“But –”

“Oliver. Shut up. You do want to kiss me, right?”

He nodded, tentatively, then, after a moment’s pause, shook his head. “Not if you’re mad. I want to sort –”

“I’m not mad, alright?” I leaned forward, pressed my lips to the spot just below his jaw that I knew he liked, murmured into the skin there, “I wanna know some of the details later. Right now, I – it’s sort of hot, not going to lie.”

“ _What_ about that could possibly be –”

I cut him off with my lips.

He gave in, like I’d hoped he would, known he would, kissed me, let his hands drift up to my hair, where the updo was already coming loose, tangled his fingers in it and pulled it apart.

The fabric of my dress was strangling me. I whispered, “There’s a closet, just down this hall.”

“What?” He laughed a little nervously. “In a – no.”

I was seriously starting to get annoyed by the way the dress cut me into two pieces. “Please.”

“Let’s go back to your room. Or mine.”

I shook my head, fingers against his neck, looking for his pulse. “I want to be spontaneous. We can be spontaneous, right?”

He hesitated.

I found his pulse with my fingers, pulled them away, put my mouth to it.

He sighed. “Leah – what is going _on_ with you?”

Every part of me was hungry. Eyes, hands, mouth, _hungry_. I let my teeth graze against his skin.

He wrenched himself away, and I realized that he was annoyed with me. “ _Leah_.”

I clenched my jaw, folded my arms, breathing hard, then looked away, self conscious anger a bright beacon behind my rib cage. “What?”

“What – what _is_ this? What are you doing?”

I kept my gaze firmly on the floor. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“What are you _looking_ for?” He sounded exasperated. “In some closet? That’s not me. That’s not – us. I thought… look. We need to talk about what happened back there. I don’t feel right just – I don’t know.”

I was swirling with a thousand different emotions, all of them strangled by the satin of the infernal dress. My voice came out flatter than I meant it to. “I’m going to go change.”

“Leah…” He sounded pained. “Come on. I didn’t mean it like… like I didn’t want to, or something like that.”

“Whatever.” I looked at his shoes. “We’ll… we can talk later. Tonight, even.”

Even as I said it I knew we wouldn’t. In all likelihood, we’d skirt around the topic for days.

When I looked up, he’d pressed a hand to his forehead. He spoke slowly. “I’m sorry. Really. I just didn’t expect all this tonight, and I feel like shit for not telling you myself.”

“Maybe you should.” The barbed words came out despite my best efforts, sharp and poisonous and utterly unfair.

He let his hand fall. “I’m _sorry_.”

I steeled myself to tell him that he didn’t need to be sorry, that we’d been broken up and besides that, it would be hypocritical of me to be angry with him and we both knew it, but then instead I said, “Okay. It’s fine. Really. I’m still going to go change.”

He let out an aggrieved sigh. “Alright.”

Trying to make myself feel better, I tipped towards him and kissed his cheek. It didn’t make me feel better.

I turned and walked down the hallway.

He repeated my words, directed them at my back as I left. “We’ll talk about it later tonight.”

We didn’t.


	35. ACT FOUR

“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”

_― Victor Hugo_


	36. 33.

The next morning, the phone rang.

Blearily, I picked up, tried to force my voice into something that sounded like a person. “Hello?”

“Leah?”

Audra’s voice, shrill, irritated.

I sighed. “Yes.”

There was a slight huff, then - “Are you in Gabriel’s room?”

Her voice sounded astringent.

“What?” I sat up, pressed the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I pulled one sock on. “No. Of course not. You called me by mistake. _Again_.”

Audra made a low, impatient sound, and then I heard the muffled click of the receiver.

I remembered, with sudden and stark clarity, the phone call I’d received the morning after Hannah had disappeared.

I’d forgotten all about it. At the time I’d thought it was Hannah. But if she had already been lying at the bottom of the tower, then it had to have been someone else on the other end of the line.

Whoever that person was, they hadn’t told me who they were. But Audra was the only one who ever called this room.

Any other day, like today, Audra would have told me it was her. But what if she hadn’t wanted me to know she had been calling Gabriel?

The implication surrounded me like a heavy fog, not something I wanted to consider. Why wouldn’t she have wanted me to know? She normally didn’t have a problem with it.

It couldn’t have been. There was no way.

But the truth was there, stacking up steadily against her.

Gabriel’s voice from last night came back to me.

 _I didn’t know what else to do_.

What if it was possible that Gabriel knew something?

Audra, even without the pressure of a lead, looked like she was crumbling. Gabriel was worried about her. They’d gotten back together, and he said it because he hadn’t known what else to do. Had his confession last night possibly been a cry for help? Did Gabriel know what really happened that night?

I resolved to find out.

Cecily’s bed was empty and unmade as I slung my feet over the edge of the bed. I was right in the middle of considering how I should tell Oliver – who, I noted with a slight twinge, was Gabriel’s best friend and closest confidant – what I was beginning to suspect, when I remembered the night before, and I slowed in my enthusiasm.

I’d gone to bed last night bitter and deflated. Oliver hadn’t come to check in, and I assumed he’d gone back to the party.

I sat there on the edge of the bed, trying to decide how I felt about that. It just didn’t feel _important,_ not then, with everything that had just occurred to me.

I checked his room, but Colin, annoyed and sleep ruffled, arrived at the door to tell me that Oliver had already left, and that he thought he’d said something about piano, so I wandered down to the practice rooms, but didn’t find him there either.

The school was eerily quiet, draped in the post-party silence of late Sunday morning. It wasn’t until I was walking down the backway past the auditorium that I heard a familiar piano piece, and realized where he was.

I walked into the auditorium from the back, not surprised to see that Oliver had rolled the piano out into center stage, and was sitting quietly, no music on the stand, just playing idly.

“I can’t believe they let you do that.”

He startled, turned, saw it was me, and let his hands fall from the keys. “Hey.”

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He scooted over on the bench, tapped the space next to him. His fingers tapped out a few quick chords as I walked toward him.

I sat, let my fingertips rest lightly on the keys. “Is this it? Like this?”

He cocked his head, smiled lightly. “Hey, look at that. You remember.”

Last year, before we’d broken up, Oliver had been teaching me how to play, slowly and painfully.

“Couldn’t let myself forget, now, could I?” I asked. “This is important stuff.”

There was a brief lull.

We both spoke at once.

I laughed. “You first.”

He shook his head. “No, you.”

“It’s awful for a morning conversation.” I warned. “You sure?”

He raised his eyebrows. “How worried should I be on a scale of one to ten right now?”

“It’s not about us.”

“Oh.” He relaxed. “Then what is it?”

“Audra.” I said. “And Gabriel.”

His voice was very quiet when he spoke. “You think so too?”

“I haven’t even said what I think yet.”

He took a deep breath. “Audra did something. Gabriel knows.”

I sat straight up. “You know something?”

He shook his head. “I _suspect_. I talked to Colin, and it was… weird.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“It was _literally_ yesterday.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to freak you out before the performance.”

“What did Colin say?”

“Nothing. He was his weirdly ambiguous self, but I guarantee you he knows at least a part of it.”

“If Colin knows and hasn’t said anything, it couldn’t have been murder, right? Colin wouldn’t keep _that_ a secret.”

Oliver was silent.

“Right?”

He sighed. “I sure _hope_ not, but you know how Colin is. He’s… deflective. I’m going back and forth between wondering whether he was just being a bad liar or deliberately making me _think_ he was being a bad liar.”

“Colin isn’t a killer. He’s our _friend_.”

“Audra and Gabriel are our friends too, Leah.”

I couldn’t see the point in pointing out why it was an immensely different scenario with the two of them, so I didn’t. “What did he say, exactly?”

“I asked him point blank if he knew what had happened that night, and he said no.”

“That’s it?”

Oliver tilted his head. “It was the _way_ he said no. It was a no, _but_.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. It just made me think. He’s been sort of shitty to Audra this semester, hasn’t he?”

I thought about how Colin had reacted when she’d fainted, all annoyed, callous. “But why would he protect her, if he knows? Why not say something?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have proof.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you?”

“Colin doesn’t do _anything_ without proof. He wouldn’t tell either of us anything he wasn’t sure about.”

I thought about Colin’s secret, about Gabriel. “I guess so. But - now what?” I asked. “What are we supposed to do? If Audra did something to Hannah, we have to _do_ something.”

Oliver sighed, a long drawn out sound. “I don’t know. I don’t.”

In the silence that followed, I placed my hand back on the keys, played an experimental triad.

“Leah… please. Can we talk about it?” Oliver sounded tired.

“About?” I knew what he meant.

“Me and Hannah. And… last night.”

“Oh.”” I stared at one of the black keys, ran my index finger along the smooth surface. “If you want.”

The silence was oppressive.

I sighed. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I – it was a weird night.”

“I know.” He said. “Are you upset about it? That I didn’t tell you?”

“We weren’t together. I never asked.” I said, and then I looked up, but not at him. “And you know I’m not exactly in a position to be upset.”

“Right.” He said, stiffly.

I turned, stood, walked out towards the edge of the stage, tried to slow my heartbeat, far too aware that right then if he had asked me who it had been right then, I would have told him. I was reminded, eerily, of the same moment months before, with the two of us in the same spot. “And I don’t really want to know about you and Hannah.”

“It wasn’t serious.” He said, and stood. “It was one time.”

“Oliver. Come on. I’m the last person on the planet you should be apologizing to about this.”

“I’m not apologizing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and ambled forward. “Just… are we good?”

I walked all of the way to the edge of the stage, looked down into the pit. Someone had left a cello case there, on it’s side. “What do you mean? Of course we’re good.”

Oliver sighed, close behind me.

I startled.

“I feel like something’s been off lately.”

“Oh?”

He sounded upset. “You’re not disagreeing.”

I sat down, swung my legs over the edge of the stage and stared out into the empty auditorium. I waited until he sat down beside me before I asked, “What’s really bothering you?”

He sighed heavily. “You and Gabriel. This whole thing. The casting. It…”

I waited, heart frozen, for the question, but it never came. I let a breath out, slow and even. “Oh, Oliver. There’s nothing going on there.”

“I don’t like it.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“It just… sucks.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Oliver was silent for a long time. He ran the tips of his fingers along the ledge, absentminded. Then he sighed. “Maybe it means something to him.”

I could have laughed. “Or maybe… it’s just acting.”

“It’s just acting for you, right?” Oliver asked. “If you’d changed your mind about us, you’d tell me?”

“What, _Gabriel_? Of course it’s just acting. He’s… not my type.” Images flashed in my peripherals, unbidden; Gabriel looking down at me, shirt unbuttoned, a hand pressed against the wall. I blinked them away and shook my head, turning to look at Oliver. He was almost painfully pretty in the half-light. “Come on. I’m yours.”

He looked down and away. “Everyone picks him. I just… I’d want warning. If you were going to.”

I turned slightly to press our knees together. “Don’t be self-deprecating. I picked _you_.”

That made the corners of his mouth quirk. “I know. It just feels like… I’m losing you again. Or I already lost you. Or something. But then sometimes it all feels fine.”

“You’re not losing me.” I whispered, and then leaned towards him so that my lips brushed against his cheek, “I’m right here.”

But I knew what he meant. Nothing felt substantial, and maybe that was just the ugliness of mid-March gloom, but it felt worse than that, a colossal weight that had fallen over us the night of the last production. We’d taken that heavy misery and tried to build something beautiful between us. Was it growing? Would there ever have been room for it to bloom?

He turned to kiss me, lips soft and gentle, and it felt like maybe, yes, maybe it was growing. This was what I liked about Oliver: when we kissed it felt like pleasant white noise. When I was with him, I could forget a little bit of why I’d been so miserable.

“Leah. _Leah._ ” He touched my jaw and kissed me again. “Leah.”

“That’s my name.”

He laughed. It was a very pleasant sound. “I love you.”

My hands stilled on their way up his arm. “Those are fighting words.”

“I was waiting to say it until I was sure you weren’t going to change your mind.”

“You’re sure now?”

“I am.”

I knew it was my turn. I knew it, and yet the words churned someplace deep inside me, in no danger of escape. I let my cheek rest against his, my lashes butterflying against his skin.

It was the first moment in an awfully long time, I thought, with a slight twinge, that had been completely pleasant between us, and I was ruining it.

So I took the words and I wrestled them to the surface and spat them out. “I love you too.”

He sighed, and then he leaned back. “You don’t have to say it back just because I did, you know. That’s not how this works. You don’t have to say it just because we’ve said it before.”

“But it’s true.”

It wasn’t a lie.

He took my face in his hands and looked right into my eyes. I held his gaze even though I badly wanted to look away, and he must have seen that I was telling the truth, because he leaned forward kissed my forehead once. “Then why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

It _was_ a bad thing, I thought. It was a terrible thing to love him. “I’m afraid of it.”

“Because of last year?”

I nodded, reaching up, traced the slope of his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I’m going to ruin it again in some other way. I’m afraid the universe will take you away.”

“Hmmm.” He kissed my nose. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed my mouth. I could have stayed in that moment forever.

A sharp thought nestled into my consciousness and stuck there.

I pulled away to recover my heartbeat.

“What?”

“Does it bother you, ever?” I asked. “That you and Hannah were together that way, and now she’s…”

He sighed, long and slow, in a hiss through his teeth. I looked at his hand on my arm, skin dark, nails even. “Yeah.”

I waited.

“But not really because we’d been together, like that. It really wasn’t this big thing. We were both buzzed, you know how the performance high is.”

“Yeah.”

“It bothers me mostly because we were friends, especially after that. We would walk a lot, and she was a good listener.”

“She really was, wasn’t she?”

“It bothers me that we were friends and I still don’t think I knew her. I mean, I knew there was something going on, that she was seeing somebody, but I had no idea it was Cecily. I mean – Cecily? Did you see that coming?”

I shook my head. “I thought they didn’t like each other at all.”

“Explains why she was so sad at the funeral.” Oliver shook his head. “Jesus.”

I stared up at the arched ceiling, feeling abruptly melancholy. How had I missed it? She was my roommate. I was starting to think that after nearly three years, we knew each other at least a little.

“No more secrets, okay?” He said, very suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

He held out a pinky finger. “Swear on it? No more secrets.”

I let out a slow breath, and hooked my pinky around his. I had the dizzying sense that doing so was the equivalent of sliding a blade between his ribs, the up down shake a sharp twist to the heart.

I repeated after him. “No more secrets.”

If only.


	37. 34.

Sleep was beginning to evade me with remarkable dexterity. I snatched at it in bits and pieces between classes, rehearsals, lessons.

Dr. Davis wouldn’t say out loud that she was disappointed by my performance at the gala, but she was pushing harder than ever, and so my practice sessions got pushed late into the night as I struggled to keep on top of my assignments, biting down my objections against the futile study of languages I’d never learn and the piles of books I’d never get through. I was possessed by an urgency that I couldn’t explain, a restless buzzing that constantly asked the question: _why am I doing this?_

Often, I would stumble back to the room well after one o’clock to find Cecily already asleep, and I would lie awake, marinating in my exhaustion, unable to drift off, angry, self-righteous, afraid. Why was I doing this? Why was I doing any of this? I wondered: did the others love it? Did they sleep and breathe and die for it? I thought that was the person I’d be – like Hannah had been – the sort of person who would sacrifice everything for music just for the joy of it.

I was still sacrificing, but it was to an absent god.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Audra. Now that I was looking for it – _really_ looking for it – the proof was everywhere. She was touchy, absent, twitchy, nervous, nothing like the Audra I’d known for the past two years. I wanted to tell Cecily my new theory, but since the gala she’d made herself scarce, and we were only in the same room when we were in classes or both asleep. It sort of alarmed me, actually. What did she think I was going to say to her? Did she think I was a bigot? I took no issue with the idea that she’d been romantically involved with Hannah, I was just surprised, and shocked I hadn’t been able to figure it out myself.

I was watching Gabriel, too.

One night, three weeks before the final performance, the two of us were in a practice room past midnight after an especially gruelling rehearsal. He sat at the one piano, and I stood with my back against the wall as wearily we tossed lines back and forth, quizzing each other on where they were in the script.

It was unfair, really, because Gabriel had the sort of memory only Colin could compete with, and he already knew everything, so this was clearly for my benefit, but I was still forgetting things.

The single overhead light shone bright and unpleasant. My eyes burned, and I pressed my fingers against the back of my neck, trying to stifle the tension there. I stared at the script, words blurring, tired of trying to figure out where there was any point in asking him outright about Audra.

“How are you?”

I looked up.

For a second I stared at him, trying to remember where that line was in the script, trying desperately to remember what came next, but then I realized he was asking the question as Gabriel and in English, and the idea was so disconcerting I took another second to answer him.

I blinked, ran my finger down the page. “Fine.”

He pressed down on a key so slowly that it made no noise at all. “You can say ‘fine’ all you want, but I’m _really_ asking.”

“Why?” The question came out quickly, too quickly.

He turned, swung a leg over the bench, and looked at me, but he didn’t say anything. The silence could have meant a lot of things, like _we’re friends_ or _I care about you_ or _I’ve noticed you’re falling apart_.

I looked down, back at the page.

He sounded weary. “The show is in three weeks. I don’t want it to be like last semester.”

“You mean with Audra.”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“I’m not going to hit self destruct.” I said, and I tried to keep my voice light. We were having a conversation about Audra, and I hadn’t even started it. I rubbed my neck again, wincing at the tight cords I found there. “One of us is enough. Seems like this semester has hit her hard.”

I searched his expression for signs of suspicion at my words, but he just looked a little sad. “It has.”

He stood, suddenly, stepped towards me. “Here. Let me try.”

“What?” I let my hand fall to my side.

“Your neck.” He said. “I can fix it.”

I almost told him not to. I almost told him that it was a bad idea. But my neck really did hurt quite a lot, so I let him come close and turned so that my back was toward him.

I made myself stay perfectly still when he touched my skin. He found the tight spot in less than a second, and laughed lightly.

“Jesus, Leah. What have you been doing?”

I shook my head. “That’s this whole semester, right there.”

He hummed an agreement. “Turn your head slowly while I push here.”

I did as he asked, barely stopped a groan from escaping at the relief from tension.

“This is an active release something-or-other.” He said. “Colin taught me so that I could fix him.”

His fingers burned against my skin.

“Remind me to thank him.” I whispered.

“One more time.” He said, and I straightened, then turned my head again, slowly as he applied pressure.

Then he stepped away. “Better?”

“Much.” I tilted my head side-to-side. “Thank you.”

My skin felt cold where his fingers had been. I sighed, heavily. “What happened with you and Audra, that night?”

He glanced at me sharply. “What night?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He turned away, touched the wall lightly.

The moment felt charged. I had to ask. “Where was Audra? Where had she been before you found her?”

“Now why,” Gabriel leaned against the wall, covered his eyes with one hand, “would you ask me a question like that?”

I felt like I was trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle with a blindfold on, feeling for where the edges fit together with no concept of what the picture looked like. Where did Gabriel fit in in this game? How could I play it and come out unscathed? How much could I trust him with?

I said, “Never mind. Stupid question, anyway.”

Gabriel walked back to the piano, but he didn’t sit. He picked up an eraser, took it to a mark he’d written in, scrubbed at it.

I stared down at the music, unsure of what the notes were. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t paying attention to them, I was waiting, _hoping_ I was right, that I knew him well enough –

“She was with me.” He said. “I’ve told you that before.”

“Did you?” I tried to sound as uninterested as possible. “Hmmm.”

“‘Hmmm’ what?” He turned, tossed the eraser at me. “Why?”

I ducked out of the way, then stooped to pick it up, tried to think like Colin, look for buttons to push.

That gave me an idea. Gabriel knew just as well as I did that Colin was as smart as a whip.

“Ah, nothing.” I tossed the eraser back, bouncing it against the ground, too hard, so that it arced high.

Gabriel’s hand snapped up, caught it.

“Just something Colin said.” I watched his face carefully. “It’s dumb anyway. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

He blinked, and for just the tiniest second, I thought I saw a flicker of some foreign emotion cross his face. But then it was gone. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“Come on.” He said, and his voice betrayed his unease. “You can tell me.”

“It was just –” I scrambled to invent a lie “– he said that he knew where Audra was that night. That it wasn’t where I thought.”

“He said that, did he?” Gabriel looked amused. “He’s a funny kid.”

I thought it was odd, the way Gabriel talked about him, like Colin was so far beneath him, even though technically Colin was older than he was.

“It just got me thinking – what were you doing that night?”

“Same thing you and Oliver were doing, my guess.” He said smoothly, one eyebrow raised.

I looked away, feeling my cheeks warm. “I meant before. What was Audra doing?”

There was a moment of silence, and then when he spoke, there was a note of incredulity in his tone. “Are you really asking me that?”

I couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t answered the question, just sidestepped it, but I was afraid to push my luck. I covered my eyes with my hands. “I just – can’t turn my thoughts off. I don’t want her to have done it to herself.”

“So you’re very indirectly accusing my girlfriend.” His tone was frosty.

“Of course I’m not.” I said. “I’m just – at a loss. I can’t stop thinking about it. I know she did it. I just don’t want it to be true.”

All Gabriel had done was convince me that I was on the right track, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. He closed his binder. “It’s been a hard semester for all of us. She’s taken it especially hard. You know how they were.”

I nodded.

He sighed, and abruptly changed tacks. “Look. If we’re not going to keep rehearsing, we should probably go to sleep.”

“Probably.” I touched my music, feeling the weight of the day coupled with the weight of Gabriel’s reluctance to answer my questions on my shoulders.

“Hey.” He said, and when I looked up, he’d taken several steps closer. He put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be alright. This nightmare is almost over.”

For a suspended second, we just stared at each other.

“Seriously, you should go to sleep.” He swallowed, let go of my shoulder. “Like I said, the show is in three weeks.”

My brain screamed: _step back step back step back_. I didn’t.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick.” He didn’t step back either, voice low. “Lack of sleep will do that.”

My heartbeat tripped, knocked against my ribs.

Then he sighed. “You guys are good, right? You and Oliver?”

I stared at his Adam’s apple, uncertain how to answer, uncertain why he was asking. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“He doesn’t… know?”

Something in my chest slid down, cold. I understood. Shaking my head, I looked down and away.

He nodded. “That’s good. You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

I paused. “I don’t know.”

“I’d appreciate it – if you were going to, waiting until after the show is over? I don’t feel like getting my ass handed to me just yet.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are so –”

“I’m kidding. Sort of. I do need this face for three more weeks.”

“Oliver wouldn’t do that.” I said. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He said, and he wasn’t joking anymore. “I think when it comes to you, Oliver might be capable of anything.”


	38. 35.

I woke the night before juries to a loud thump and Cecily swearing.

When I opened my eyes blearily and switched on the lamp, I saw her hopping around the room holding her foot.

“Stubbed my toe. _Shit_.” She let out a low breath. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I _was_.”

There was the sort of silence often found between two people with something immense to talk about.

“Sorry.”

This was the first moment since the gala that we’d been alone in a room and both awake.

I sighed, sat up. “Cecily.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“You were going to ask me if I wanted to talk about it.”

“I want to know.” I said. “What happened with you two?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She said, but then she sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding onto her foot, and I knew she was going to tell me anyway.

“What happened?” I asked. “How did I miss it?”

She paused, considering.

“I always liked her.” Cecily’s misery was evident in the sharp hunch of her shoulders. “Right from when she first got here. She was just so – assured. She’d sing, and it was like… my heart would just _stop_.”

“I know.”

“But then it was more than that. I always thought I was a little different, but it – she just confirmed that. I liked her _so_ much. It was so bad I felt like I couldn’t even be in the same room with her.”

“I thought it was because you hated her.”

“I know. And I did, sometimes, a little. But then – reading week. She’d been noticing me the way I noticed her.” Her voice broke. “I thought maybe it could be something, and it _was_ something, but just that week. After that… she wasn’t ready.”

“That’s what you guys were fighting about the night of the dress rehearsal.”

She looked up at me sharply, eyes red rimmed. “You heard that?”

“Only some of it.”

“Yeah, that’s what we were arguing about. I just – it felt so _real_ , what we had. I was so afraid, when I found out about Oliver. I thought – I thought she’d been lying to me the whole time. I’ve just been clinging to this hope that she wasn’t.”

“He told me there was nothing there. That it was just once.”

She nodded. “I know. He told me too.”

I was fiercely glad at that, like that proved something about him, and about me too, by extension.

She spoke quietly. “I have to ask you something, too.”

I felt shot through by sudden nerves. “Okay.”

“Is there anything going on with you and Gabriel?”

There was a beat of silence.

“What, you mean like…” I raised my eyebrows.

She leaned back on the window seat, appraising me. “ _Is_ there?”

“No!” I shook my head. “No. Not… this time.”

Cecily pressed her mouth in a thin line. “Are you ever going to tell Oliver about what happened last year?”

“I – “ I shrugged. “He knows it was someone. I don’t see why I have tell him who. Gabriel won’t tell him, I know that much.”

Cecily let out a long breath. “Come on. Leah. He deserves to know.” 

I couldn’t think about what had happened without an accompanying rush of warm shame, even almost a year after it had happened. Gabriel was such a determined sort of person that in my worse moments, I liked to convince myself that I had nothing to do with it, that he was the one who had acted in the wrong; as though he’d spent so long convincing me I wanted to be kissed that when he finally did it I hadn’t turned him away.

In my better moments I knew it was my fault.

It would be one thing if it had stopped there, if that was all that had happened. But it wasn’t just that.

That semester, our evening lessons had ended at the same time, and we often would walk back to the dormitories together. I didn’t know when or how we’d started taking the long route back, but we did, and that’s when it had happened the first time.

That first time had been perfectly innocent, just a kiss, just his hand on my waist, just mine on his arm, and when I’d pulled away, told him no, it had ended there.

The second time, one kiss had turned into two, which had turned into a third, which had ended with Gabriel practically busting down a door in an old art classroom. It wasn’t just kissing. It had been a beginning and an ending all at once. I still don’t know why I went with him, or why I agreed to any of it. Once it had happened, after it was over, I understood the inevitability of it, or at least, that was the excuse I’d given myself. We’d both needed it: I’d needed something to quench my fear, and he’d just _needed_.

I liked to use the defense that he never asked, and it was hard to say no to Gabriel. He never asked me like Oliver always did, he just took. But I think that if I was a better person, I would have said no, and I still remember how I felt that night, how I didn’t _want_ to say no.

I’d broken up with Oliver the next day. Not because I wanted to get with Gabriel. It was never like that. I never felt anything towards him after that besides a thinly veiled disgust, because I had the feeling that I hadn’t been the only one he’d busted down classroom doors for.

I’d broken up with Oliver because the choice between ending things and admitting what had happened seemed easy at the time. I knew it wasn’t right to stay with him and stay silent, but I couldn’t have told him – and Gabriel definitely wasn’t going to, they were best friends, after all – and I’d already been terrified of the future. It was the easy way out, I’d cried to Cecily, and I’d been a coward. She’d had even less sympathy then.

“What, going to pull an ultimatum on me?” I looked up at her sharply.

“No.” She snapped. “I’m just going to make you uncomfortable with my intense judgement face every day until you cave.”

“It’s nothing now.” I said. “It came out of nowhere. We’re friends, now. That’s all.”

“It came out of – that’s the _problem_. Did you expect it to happen the first time?” Cecily looked annoyed.

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know you were the morality police.”

“God. At least it was a one-time-thing.”

When I didn’t say anything, she looked over at me.

Her brows creased, and then she rolled her eyes. “Oh, spare me. For god’s sake. When?”

“The gala.”

“ _This_ gala?”

“No!” I held my hands up. “I wouldn’t do that to Oliver. Last semester.”

“Jesus,” She said, simply, “Christ.”

“There’s nothing going on _now_.”

“I’d hope not.” She snarked, but quickly sobered, touched a hand to the side of her face. “It would hurt more than Oliver if there was.”

“What, since when do you care about Audra?”

She shrugged.

I got the impression that maybe Cecily wasn’t talking about Audra. “What, you have a thing for Gabriel now?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re dumber than a bag of rocks, you know that? Of course I don’t.”

I realized what she meant all at once like a slap to the face. “Oh. Colin.”

Of course Cecily knew. He’d told her over reading week. I’d completely forgotten.

“Yeah, Colin.” She said. “Duh. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed…?”

“He’s being weirdly creepy about it recently. Like he’s _always_ watching Gabriel. I tried to talk to him, but he got all weird and brushed me off.”

I hadn’t noticed. “Why, do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” She said. “I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t trust him, though.”

“You don’t?”

“Do _you_?” She looked up at me. “Doesn’t it seem like he knows something he isn’t telling us?”

“Colin _always_ knows something he isn’t telling us.”

“If only we could get our hands on that stupid journal.” She said. “Maybe there’s some truth in there.”

Then she sighed. “Juries are tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Then tech week. Then the performance.”

“I _know_.”

When she looked back up at me, it was clear that her thoughts were far away, somewhere the concerns of the Conolly academic schedule couldn’t reach.

“Go to sleep.” She said. “We have one hell of a week ahead of us.”

-

Juries flew by, an afterthought. They didn’t matter anymore, and we all knew it. Coincidentally, I performed better than I ever had, which didn’t seem fair, but there wasn’t time to psychoanalyze the implication: tech week was upon us.

Last semester, tech week had merely been something to participate in. This semester, the whole structural integrity of it relied on me. This was the week to run the show in fits and starts and prepare for the dress rehearsal on Friday.

The show was on Saturday, but I couldn’t let my thoughts wander that far.

“What’s wrong with you, Thorpe?” Dr. Ritter didn’t even sound annoyed anymore, just weary. “You look like a chicken.”

He was sort of right. I was watching in the wings, and onstage, Colin held his arm funny, out to the side just a little, as though it hurt him.

He straightened, immediately, eyes cast to the floor, but still held his arm gingerly.

“What happened to you?” Ritter exploded. “Fix it!”

Colin made intense eye contact with his shoelaces. “I fell. I’ll be fine by Saturday.”

It sounded like a lie, and I wasn’t sure why the idea snagged at my subconscious.

“You’d better.” Ritter glowered. “Start again.”

That week was defined by individual moments like that, snippets of memory that stuck while the rest of the details blurred into each other.

More than once, I found myself transfixed by the way Gabriel moved across the stage. Before, I wouldn’t have claimed that Gabriel was anything other than a good actor, but something about the way he played Don Jose was mesmerizing. In a lesson, Dr. Davis had said something about this, how having a co-star like Gabriel was going to make my job easy. And it _was_ easy. Gabriel made playing Carmen effortless. I didn’t have to think about how to act, I just followed his lead.

Towards the end of the week, though, something was different. I don’t think I was the only one who noticed – I saw Dr. Ritter and Dr. Davis whispering on the last day. When I was watching Gabriel during his solo, I was still transfixed, but for a different reason. Watching Gabriel felt like watching a bomb about to go off. I couldn’t have said specifically what it was that made me so nervous on his behalf, but for the first time, it felt like I was waiting for him to make a mistake.

At a touch on my bare shoulder, I jumped.

“Sorry.” Oliver whispered from behind me, bending to press a kiss to the same spot he’d touched. “Didn’t mean to startle you. How are you holding up?”

I shrugged, and he didn’t pull away, just wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back against his chest. “I have to go onstage soon.”

“I know.” He kissed my cheek, squeezed once. “Just wanted to see how you were.”

I reached up blindly to touch the side of his face. “I’m fine. I don’t think I’m the one you should be worrying about. Do you know what’s going on with him?”

Onstage, Gabriel had forgotten a line. In all of our rehearsals, I’d never seen him miss a beat, but now, in the few days before the show, he’d let himself get completely derailed, and he stood, staring into the darkness, some complicated emotion shadowing his expression.

Dr. Ritter stopped the music. “What on god’s green earth is the matter with you today, Morrow?”

Gabriel gave his head a slight shake, opened his mouth, stammered something I couldn’t make out, and shook his head again with more vehemence.

Colin, hand on the hilt of an invisible sword, mouthed something to him.

Gabriel shot him a quick frown, and Colin rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up.

I expected Gabriel to correct himself, but he didn’t, he just stood there.

“Is something the matter?” Dr. Ritter asked, without much compassion.

Gabriel faltered, shook his head.

Colin cleared his throat and began to speak again, but was cut off.

“Shut up.” Gabriel snapped. “I know the line.”

Colin’s eyebrows arched.

“Then act like it.” Dr. Ritter bellowed. “From the top of this scene. And try not to waste any more time.”

Colin looked very decidedly at the floor, and I could see that the tips of his ears were pink.

“Pre-performance jitters, d’you think?” Oliver sighed heavily, breath hot against my ear.

I shook my head. “That’s not Gabriel.”

Oliver pulled away, then guided my shoulders so that I turned away from the stage and toward him. He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me, softly, so gently that I forgot about what was going on behind me and let my hands rest at his hips.

When he pulled away, I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Nothing.” He smiled, and reached up to tug at my ponytail. “I’m just proud of you.”

I sighed, contented, and kissed him again. That was the first moment I felt it – a little bubble of helpless joy that said: _it might be okay ­_ – and believed it could be true. I pulled him closer to me and let myself enjoy how it felt when he wrapped his arms around me.

I was very dimly aware of music playing, and when I heard a familiar strain of chords, I pulled away.

Oliver made a vaguely disappointed noise, and I laughed.

“You,” I poked his chest, “are going to make me miss my entrance.”

“Oh, no.” He whispered, touching his nose to mine. “That would be the end of the world.”

“With Dr. Ritter in this mood? It just might be.”

He squeezed my arm once, pulling away. “Alright. Go make up for whatever’s gotten under Gabriel’s skin.”

Whatever had caused Gabriel to slip, it didn’t show up again, at least not until after the rehearsal was over, and it was just the two of us left.

We stood in the wings, feeling a little aimless, listening to Rutledge give the orchestra a final pep talk. Thursday had come and gone too quickly. Tomorrow was the dress rehearsal.

There were only two more days until it was all over. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen. Would I see the rest of them again? Would I see Gabriel again?

Oliver and I had talked about it, we had plans to audition for the same opera company, but we were both planning to take the summer off, try to recuperate from this year. I looked forward to it more and more every day.

I looked over at Gabriel, who was standing and staring up towards the inky blackness of the curtains.

I thought he looked terribly sad. “Gabriel. Hey. Are you okay?”

He sighed. “Everything’s gone to shit, hasn’t it?”

“Everything?” I stared at him.

He continued to stare at the ceiling, but he nodded.

“It’ll all be over soon.” I said, though I wasn’t sure that was the comfort he was looking for. Then I was overtaken by a wave of sudden and unexpected bravery. “Gabriel. I… I have to ask. What’s been happening with Audra… how she’s been… it isn’t just semester stress, is it?”

“Hannah _died_.” He said, roughly. “Of course it’s not just semester stress.”

But he didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes fixed, staring into the auditorium as if afraid he’d see something peering back out of the dark.

I crossed my arms. “You know something.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I know you won’t tell me. But you know what happened. Did she tell you?”

He looked at me, then down at my shoes, the downward tilt of his mouth all sharp angles. “I said I don’t know, alright?”

Then he looked up at me, and he didn’t look away. I thought that maybe this was the first time Gabriel had ever let me see any real emotion. Misery etched his features into unfamiliar shapes. “Leah. I –”

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m a safe place. We’re friends.”

At that, he regained some of his usual Gabrielness, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards. “Aw, Woodley. You’ve never called me a friend before.”

I rolled my eyes, but had to smile, relief palpable. Solemn Gabriel had started to be unnerving.

Then he lurched forward and pressed his lips to mine.

I blinked, pulled away, placed my palm on his shoulder between us, and shook my head. “Gabriel. What are you doing?”

He looked down and away. “Oliver?”

I nodded. “I don’t… I’m happy. He’s happy. I’m not going to ruin that.”

I thought he looked deeply wounded, which was more than a little bit unfair.

“I… sorry.” He said. “Sorry. Stupid of me.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. Forget about it.”

He let out a long, low breath. “I’m going to go.”

“Okay.” I said. “Alright.”

He turned, but I caught him by the sleeve.

“Tomorrow?” I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. “Good luck.”

His smile was a little wistful. “You too.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

 _It’s just acting_. I’d told Oliver that, and it was true for me. But what if it wasn’t true for Gabriel? I’d always thought that our moments had been nothing but a way to blow off steam, and he’d never done anything to make me think otherwise. But I’d felt the way he’d looked at me all the way up my spine. Gabriel had always been good at non-verbal communication; I’d observed that in him over our several years of friendship.

I wondered; what would have happened if it had been Gabriel and I from the beginning?

Then I thought of Oliver’s arms around me and I shook my head. This was stupid. I didn’t even like Gabriel. I’d never wanted him except in the fleeting moments he’d managed to convince me that I did. And that was what Gabriel did. He tried to convince me I wanted him. Was that what had just happened?

I had the urgent sense that there was something more going on. I was grasping at little pieces without any sense of the full picture.

It was pure luck that Cecily had a rehearsal for the harp concerto that night, and it was pure luck that I’d dragged Oliver into my room, my interaction with Gabriel having left me feeling frayed and worn at the edges. It was luck that when we were pressed skin-to-skin, still and silent except for the sound of our breathing, we were quiet enough to hear the beginning of it, but I don’t think it was luck that we heard what we heard: a low moan, like somebody in pain; Audra, crying; Gabriel pleading with her to be quiet.

The fact that we heard that wasn’t luck, because it was what reminded me to be vigilant, observant, wary.

“I think it was Audra.” I whispered. “I think we were right. I think she had something to do with it. And Gabriel knows. I know he does.”


	39. 36.

The dress rehearsal was easily, undeniably our best. Something – maybe the kiss – had ignited a chemistry between Gabriel and I that burned, electric, and I didn’t have to reach for the sensuality that Dr. Ritter had begged me for. It was already there, right at the surface, ready for me to dip into.

I felt that night what I’d been inching toward all semester, the knowledge that Gabriel made me a better performer. He took what I was and drove it forward, extracted it out of me. Our voices blended together, the result of hours of practice, sounding easy, feeling like _everything_. Now that I knew them, singing these pieces was fun; it ignited something immense in me and I understood again, a cyclical knowledge, why I’d applied to Conolly in the first place. Despite myself, despite my inhibitions, I was having _fun_.

Plus, the costume was an added bonus, too, a scarlet dress, similar to the one I’d worn at the first gala, but with large loose sleeves, a slit in the side.

Maybe it was the dress, maybe it was me, but Gabriel’s eyes tracked me across the stage the whole night. Maybe it was acting, maybe it wasn’t, but I couldn’t help how it made me feel.

I wondered, often, throughout the night, whether Oliver noticed, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Throughout the production, the whole night, I felt my nerves running through me like a live wire. _Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow._

When we arrived at the scene that had given us so much grief all of those weeks ago, it was easy. _Too_ easy. Gabriel dipped me, and I melted against his hands, fluid, easy, just like we’d been practicing.

Since the day Dr. Ritter had asked us to include a whisper, Gabriel had found something new and equally ridiculous to say at every rehearsal, trying to get me to break character and laugh. _Don’t look now, Dr. Rutledge is here and he’s wearing your costume. Tomorrow I’m going to say all of my lines in German just to see if Ritter is paying attention. I heard that if we make it through this run with no mistakes, Davis owes Blackburn ten bucks._

Tonight, he didn’t whisper. He spoke, voice low, so close that his lips brushed against my earlobe, “You are _killing_ me, Woodley.”

Everything was different after that moment. What had already felt like electric chemistry crackled between us. I couldn’t help it, he was magnetic, and all through the last act I had to remind myself: breathe.

At the strain of the final chord, I stood, flushed, victorious, as Dr. Ritter, Dr. Davis, and Dr. Rutledge applauded from somewhere further in the auditorium, their clapping echoing in the cavernous room.

The entire cast crowded onto the stage to hear the congratulations from the staff. My cheeks were warm with the rush of finishing, of such a _spectacular_ run. I thought, blindly, that I could live on this feeling.

The rest of the cast was dismissed except for Gabriel and I, and we sat, legs dangling, at the edge of the stage to listen as Dr. Ritter paced below us. I tried not to notice that our thighs and knees were touching, unable to recall which one of us had started it.

“Excellent work!” Dr. Ritter was ecstatic. “Perform like that tomorrow and I’ll give you a knighthood. Or something.”

I looked over my shoulder for Oliver, but he was already gone. I wondered if he’d seen it, if he’d noticed the connection between Gabriel and I, and I felt something twinge in my chest.

“You have both overcome tremendous hardship to be where you are right now.” Ritter beamed. “We are so proud of you and will be thrilled to recognize you as Conolly graduates this weekend. I have only a few notes, and then I suggest you go get some well-deserved rest.”

I sat with blurry thoughts through the remainder of his suggestions, unaware of what he was saying.

After he was finished, he piled his notebooks into his bag, still beaming, and wished us good night.

We waited for him to leave

“Did you catch any of that?” Gabriel asked.

I laughed. “Not a word.”

“I hope it wasn’t important.” He said, and hefted himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, then laughed again. “I feel – I feel _high_.”

“Me too.” I stayed seated, swung my legs. “That really was an incredible run.”

“Go team.” He said, then, “Walk back with me?”

Something about the way he said it sounded funny, and when I turned, I knew that wasn’t what he’d really meant. He stood on the stage, just looking, and I knew that _walk back_ meant something else.

The house lights went off.

It’s tempting to say that it just happened to me, that I couldn’t have said no, swept away by the tidal wave that was Gabriel, but that wouldn’t have been true. It was a choice. It was always a choice, and when I didn’t look away, I was making it.

When he held out his hand, I took it, and he hoisted me up, and then we were both standing on the stage in the dark.

There was a little voice in the back of my head that was screaming: _don’t don’t don’t._

“You’ll be my Carmen?” Gabriel’s eyes were imploring, his hand on my cheek. He traced the curve of my cheekbone with his thumb.

“Only on stage,” I said, but I let him kiss me anyway.

It was different this time, almost like a real kiss, not just a way to blow off steam. It would have been gentle if it weren’t for his fingers digging into my arm.

I realized that the kiss was a question, which was strange, because Gabriel never asked. He just took and waited for me to follow.

He was asking now.

I couldn’t think. I wasn’t thinking. There was only a burst of possibility in my chest, a sudden, strong urge towards making a mistake.

I kissed him back.

He let go of my arm, cupped my face with both hands.

I felt that kiss in every inch of my body, simultaneous guilt and delight. This wasn’t like our first kiss, or our second, or any of the kisses we’d shared in October. This was a kiss that I felt in my bone marrow.

I wondered if this was how Audra felt when he kissed her, and it was with a sharp pang that I realized I didn’t care.

He slid his hands into my hair, pulled me closer. I could feel my heartbeat in my mouth, skipping, stuttering.

I wonder if I would have stopped it in a moment of lucidity, if I’d _had_ a moment of lucidity, but there was nothing like that to be had. There was just: Gabriel’s fingers at the base of my skull, his lips on my lips, pulling me apart.

We’d been on stage, but we were moving, now, as a unit, starving, dying, two black holes that had been circling each other for too long, finally colliding, drawing in anything in our path.

We were moving upstage, and then we’d made it to the back wall, and into the wings, always connected, always touching.

I burned with fiercely joyous self hatred.

We made it all the way to the green room before either of us spoke.

I pulled away, once, crashed toward him, pulled away again, gasped, “This is a bad idea.”

He kissed me so hard that I crashed into the wall, his fingers pulling apart my careful updo without much care, gasping his response into my mouth. “This is the only good idea I’ve had in weeks.”

Everything about this moment was wrong, I knew. The logical part of my brain fought every second as he kissed down my neck, teeth not gentle, but it was hard to _think_.

I thought of Oliver, the quiet way he’d hurt. This would break him. My heart lurched.

This would break _me._

“Wait.” I gasped. “Gabriel, stop.”

“What?” He paused, but only for a second, so that I had to fight around the haze of my thoughts to get the words out out.

I sucked in an unsteady breath. “Stop. Gabriel. I don’t –”

He wasn’t listening. I could feel his fingers digging into my ribcage, so hard it hurt.

“Gabriel. Stop. I’m done. I don’t want – what about Oliver?”

He made a low, impatient sound against my collarbone. “What about him?”

“Just – what about Oliver – _Stop_ it. Gabriel. I’m serious.”

“What, are you going to tell him? I know _I’m_ not.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I was fully resisting now, but Gabriel was stronger than I was.

He grabbed my arm and flung it against the wall, where the impact made a sharp crack. Pain shot up my arm, white hot, and my eyes went wide as I realized: I might not be able to get out of this.

I gasped as his grip on my wrist tightened.

“God – I have – I’ve been thinking about this since the cast list went up.” He said, 

“Don’t kid yourself.” I used my free hand to push against his chest, trying to fight down rising panic. “You only want me because you’re not supposed to have me.”

“Maybe I just _want_ you.”

“Gabriel, _please_.” I turned my face away when he came up to kiss me.

The door on the opposite end of the room flew open.

Gabriel let go at once, and I slid to the floor, shaking.

He stepped back, and I looked up to see Colin standing in the doorway, face white as a sheet. “What the – _fuck_ _–”_ he stammered “– what in god’s name –”

“Colin.” Gabriel sounded more than alarmed – he sounded _afraid_. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“What the fuck is it supposed to look like?” Colin’s voice came out thin and reedy.

I scrambled to my feet, arm held close to my chest, heart hammering.

Gabriel jerked his head in my direction.

“Go.” He whispered. “Just – I’ll do damage control. Go.”

I didn’t wait. I couldn’t even offer Colin an apologetic glance as I ran, I was so desperate to get out of there.

I ran out of the room and back across the stage, nearly tripping on the stairs, sprinting down the aisle and into the hallway.

I didn’t stop running until I reached the dormitory, until I’d gotten inside and slammed the door shut behind me, barely aware of the tears that were already running down my cheeks.

Cecily looked up from her desk, alarmed. “What the hell happened to you?”


	40. 37.

“Let’s get you some ice.” Cecily sat perched at the edge of my bed. Her eyes burned with an unspoken fury.

I’d barely managed to get the story out before I’d felt something essential in me collapse in on itself, and then I couldn’t say anything at all.

“Don’t leave, alright?” Cecily touched my shoulder. “I’m just going down to the kitchen to grab an ice pack.”

I nodded, tucking my knees to my chest. I couldn’t understand what had just happened, how easily and fluidly the moment had slipped from delirium to a nightmare.

And Colin’s face. I couldn’t stop seeing it. Would he think I’d betrayed him? _Had_ I betrayed him in those initial moments?

There was a knock at the door. I wiped hastily at my eyes, frozen in place, unable to organize my thoughts into a straight line.

“It’s me.”

Gabriel.

My heart squeezed, traitorous.

I slid off the bed and towards the door. When I spoke, my voice was nasal. “I’m not letting you in.”

“That seems fair.” He said. “I – I came to apologize.”

“I hope so.” I said. “What the fuck was that?”

My feet and my heart both felt numb as I stood and walked to the door.

“I don’t have an excuse.” Gabriel sounded miserable. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” Cecily’s voice was shrill. “You think you have the right to be here?”

I opened the door, stepped into the hall before I could talk myself out of it.

Gabriel stood a few feet away, gaze cast downward.

Cecily handed me the icepack, eyes asking the unspoken question.

I nodded.

Cecily glared daggers at him. “Fuck you, man.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything, just watched her as she strode into our room and slammed the door behind her so hard that it bounced open again. She didn’t come back to close it.

I held the ice against my wrist and leaned against the doorframe, closing my eyes. I couldn’t look at him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He whispered. “I’m sorry, Leah. I just – I don’t know what came over me.”

I could still taste fear beneath my tongue. “I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think,” I hissed, and the words came out wobbly, not at all the way they sounded in my head, “You’re selfish, and you take what you want, and you don’t think about other people. Ever.”

He sounded uncertain. “I thought you wanted it.”

“You thought I wanted it after I said no? What, did you think that just because it happened before it could happen again whenever you wanted?”

He bowed his head, as though in confession. At first, I thought it was because I’d shamed him into silence, but then a tear splattered onto the floor between us.

Gabriel was crying.

“It’s been…” He slid down the wall slowly until he landed on the floor. “It’s been awful.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. “What’s been awful?”

“This semester.” He slid the heel of his palm across his cheek, then shook his hand out as though disdainful of his own tears. “Pretending I don’t know. I feel like it’s been building up inside. I’m a volcano just – _waiting_.”

“Gabriel.” I crouched beside him, my own panic momentarily forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

“I’d do anything for her.” He was murmuring now, as though I wasn’t there. “I’d do _anything_ for her.”

“Audra?”

“She could do whatever she wanted to me and I’d still do anything for her.” His voice cracked. He didn’t look at me. “I thought – before – I thought I was going to marry her. I probably – I’d still.”

Revulsion grated against my nerves. Not even an hour before, Gabriel had been with me, and now he was talking about marrying Audra? “What are you saying? Before…”

“You know what I mean.” He said miserably, sucking in a desperate gasp, gripping his head between his hands. “I’ve been watching you figure it out. I’m just – I’m just trying to protect her.”

“You’re admitting it.” I could hear the inflection of awe in my tone.

He shook his head. “You can’t tell.”

“What?” I shook my head. “You aren’t exactly in a position to tell me what to do, here.”

He turned, suddenly, gripped my forearm, but let go as though I’d burnt him when I hissed.

I clutched my wrist to my chest.

“Sorry.” His voice was strained. “You just – can’t. I’m sorting it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I could hear my own heartbeat. My question came out as barely more than a whisper. “Gabriel. Did Audra kill Hannah?”

He winced, and turned away.

“Gabriel.”

“She’s everything. She’s all I have.”

“Cut the shit, Gabriel. We both know you couldn’t care less about her.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “That’s not true.”

I gripped his shoulder. “Gabriel. Come on.”

“I’m just trying to keep her safe.”

“Maybe she doesn’t deserve safe.”

“She _does_.” He bristled. “You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“I know enough.”

“She can’t go to jail. It’s not fair. What happened to Hannah – it was an accident.”

“She can’t just – get away with it. Gabriel.”

His voice was shaky. “Just. Please. _Please_. Don’t say anything to the faculty. Not yet.”

“Which part, that you don’t know how to take no for an answer or that you’re covering for a murderer?”

“Shh!” He glared at me. “You just – you don’t _know_. You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Then tell me.”

“I will. I’ll tell you everything after the performance tomorrow. Okay?”

I stared at him.

“Promise me.” He said. “I’ll explain everything. I will. Just don’t say anything to anyone tonight.”

I bit my lip.

I knew what I _should_ say, but exhaustion loomed, threatening. There was a show to do tomorrow. What was one more day in a hellish semester of days stacked on top of each other?

Slowly, uncertainly, I nodded. “I promise.”


	41. 38.

It was unseasonably lovely the day of our final performance. Clear skies, warm air, fresh with the crisp scent of evergreens, none of it whispering of the terrible things to come. I’d always thought it made sense for death to be accompanied by grisly grey skies, wind whistling through the corridors, a smattering of rain, a sudden chill in the air. At least when Hannah had died, nature had mourned with her.

The day that took another life was bright and brilliant.

The real performance was never about the music. It wasn’t about the acting, either. Maybe it should have been. If I’d paid attention to the show and ignored everything else, the night might still have been something worth looking back on.

But I don’t even remember most of it. I don’t remember the show, how it went, if I did well in the scenes that I’d been so worried about. I only remember it in disjointed bits and pieces: the worst night of my life.

I was a nervous wreck beforehand. Not because of the show. I didn’t care about that – I knew I was prepared. I’d put the hours in, they would reward me in turn. I wanted desperately to find Oliver and bury my face in his shoulder and cry, but there wasn’t time for that, and even if there was, how could I have told him anything without telling him everything? The thought of being onstage with Gabriel made me sick. The knowledge that I’d been right – that Audra was a _murderer_ – left me pacing my changing room floor like a wild animal, limbs infused with rot.

Even clinging to the idea that it might have been an accident, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, imagining all of the ways it might have happened. Hands on shoulders, a shove, Hannah slipping, falling. Had she been afraid? Had she known she was going to die?

I had to tell someone. Wasn’t I complicit now, too? I couldn’t just – _sit_ with the knowledge, keep quiet, like he’d asked me to. But I had. We’d sat through the faculty headed pre-performance meeting, and I hadn’t said a word. The way he looked at me afterward, all quiet approval, was infuriating. What right did he have to my silence? Hadn’t he forfeited it? But I was silent all the same, even though it wasn’t alright, and it never would be again.

I’d hoped Oliver would come see me before the show, but he didn’t. I was driving myself half mad with the thought that he’d found out, somehow, that everyone knew, when there was a knock at my door.

It wasn’t Oliver. It was Gabriel. I opened the door halfway, but I didn’t let him in. “What?”

He looked troubled, running his thumb over his bottom lip. “Can we talk?”

I braced myself against the doorframe. “About what?”

“Just…” He sighed, looking over his shoulder, “Thanks. For not saying anything.”

“About you practically assaulting me or about your killer girlfriend?” I spoke through gritted teeth.

Gabriel winced. “Both, I guess. Just… I would never have actually hurt you. I wanted you to know that. If you were worried.”

“But you _did_.”

“I didn’t! We kissed, that’s all. It was only kissing. I wouldn’t have pushed –”

“Are you _delusional_?” I pressed a steadying hand against the door. “You did push. You _did_ hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“Look.” I was surprised by how steady my fingers were as I undid the buttons on my sleeve and brandished my wrist toward him.

The sight of the bruises shut him up. They’d darkened since the night before, staining my arm with blotchy purple fingerprints.

“I…” He looked at my hand, then down at the ground.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I growled. “We’re doing this performance, and then I’m never speaking to you again, and I _am_ going to tell the faculty about Audra.”

His eyes widened. “Don’t!”

“Why are you defending her?” I exploded.

He glanced both ways down the hallway. “Let me in.”

I shook my head. “No. You’re going to stand right there and give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go to Rutledge right now. I’m not keeping your secret. Or hers.”

He swallowed. “Leah. Let me in.”

I let him in.

He began to pace almost immediately.

“I’m worried about what Audra might do.” He wrung his hands, looking genuinely agitated. “I’m worried about her. I – I still love her, which is maybe stupid –”

“ _Definitely_ stupid.”

“Alright, yeah. It’s stupid. We’re both fucked up and I love her.”

“I don’t really want to hear about whether or not you love her. I don’t care.”

He made an impatient gesture. “I’m afraid of what she might do to herself. Even if nobody knew. You’ve seen how she’s gotten.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’m worried she’s going to –”

There was a sharp knock on the door.

I opened it a crack, peered through it.

Roseanne, who was operating as a stagehand this semester, held up five fingers.

I opened the door.

“You’ve got to get backstage.” She said. “It’s important.”

When she caught sight of Gabriel in the room, her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing over here? You’re supposed to be in the wings.”

Gabriel looked once at me, searchingly, and then with a swift nod to Roseanne, he swept out of the room and down the hall.

When I looked at Roseanne, she was staring at me. I realized, too late, she’d caught sight of my arm. “Are you okay?”

I shook my sleeve over the bruises, began painstakingly buttoning my sleeves back up. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t have time to decide whether or not that was true.

Backstage, I could hear the rustling of the audience. My stomach turned over. Were we going to be able to pull it off? Would Gabriel and I be able to pretend? Where was Oliver? I’d hoped to see him before everything started.

Too late. The overture began.

The notes flowed past me. What was left to do but count down the seconds? I was a pillar of salt.

I heard Gabriel on stage, fought down the visceral response his voice invoked.

A blink. A moment.

I was on stage, smiling, smiling, smiling.

My first lines. Impossible in their prophecy, yet there. Every word was a memory.

_When am I going to love you?_ _  
My word, I don't know.  
Perhaps never, perhaps tomorrow;  
but not today, that's certain._

So the year had come full circle.

The cellos picked up their familiar strain.

The most recognized song in opera, and I was singing it in front of a live audience.

The first notes came out of my mouth, and my nerves dissipated. I knew this. I _knew_ this.

I flew through the first act. The chemistry between Gabriel and I was no longer there, but if I’d learned anything this semester, it was how to act. I could practically hear Dr. Ritter’s enthusiasm in my ear. I wasn’t playing Carmen, not tonight.

I _was_ Carmen.

I’d been so worried about what was going to happen onstage, but it turned out that I should have been worried about what happened offstage.

During a short chorus scene, I stood, flushed, in the wings, catching my breath, grateful for a reprieve.

It was briefer than I’d hoped for. Right when I was starting to relax, Gabriel stepped out of the shadows, looking grim. “Leah. I should tell you – don’t –”

Whatever he was about to say, he didn’t finish, because Colin had rounded the corner.

“Colin, I said – _Thorpe._ ” Gabriel’s voice was menacing. “Can you leave me alone for _five seconds_?”

I’d never heard Gabriel speak to Colin that way before.

Colin’s jaw tensed. “Leah –”

“Keep. Your mouth. _Shut_.” Gabriel glowered.

“If you would stop _fucking_ your co-star, maybe then I’d –” Colin stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

I knew who he’d seen without looking.

I whirled around, frantic, but the damage had already been done. I could only stand, mute with horror as Oliver looked first at me, then at Gabriel.

I shook my head rapidly.

Oliver stood perfectly still, still holding onto a false dagger. “Is that true?”

I rushed to interject. “I didn’t – it wasn’t like that –”

“It _would_ have if I hadn’t happened to show up.” Colin snapped.

Gabriel sounded positively murderous. “Why _were_ you snooping around, anyway?”

I couldn’t stop looking at Oliver. He looked like Oliver but crushed, _wrong_. He wouldn’t look at me. His gaze was fixed on Gabriel.

“Oh, fuck you.” Colin sounded incendiary. “You know why.”

“Shut up.” Oliver’s voice was deadly quiet. “Both of you. Is it true?”

For a second, I thought he was going to hit Gabriel. I sort of wished he would. Shame diffused through my chest like acid, even though I knew the truth, just because of the way he wasn’t looking at me. I thought I might be sick.

I shook my head, but the damage had been done. Oliver had seen in my eyes that there was _a_ truth to it, and that was enough.

“You get _everything_. Everything. All the time. You couldn’t just for one second pull it together to think about what this would do to me?”

If Gabriel was ashamed, he didn’t show it. His gaze was steely as he observed Oliver, calculating, cold.

Oliver’s voice broke. “Why?”

I had to say something, I knew, but I couldn’t. I could only watch in horror as Gabriel sneered down at Oliver. “Why _what_?”

“Why _Leah_?” Oliver stepped forward, bristling. “What the fuck is your problem? Why would you do that?”

Roseanne, who was watching the exchange nervously, whispered to me, “We need you onstage NOW.”

I cast a glance over my shoulder as I went. Oliver was watching me, and it was the same look on his face that I’d seen when I’d broken up with him, but older, more wounded.

How could I ever explain?

I was a ghost of myself on stage.

I was dimly aware that the scene was coming. It was upon us before I knew what to do with it, and Gabriel and I were dancing.

He spun me close, dipped me down.

I didn’t resist.

He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

For a horrible, flailing moment, I couldn’t remember my line. Then, when it came to me, I just smiled, slowly and luxuriously, as though he’d told me exactly what I wanted to hear, smiled over the pounding of my heart turned to stone.

If we had been alone, I’d have told him that sorry would never be enough, but we were surrounded by a thousand people, and as the saying went, the show must go on.

Intermission couldn’t come soon enough. As soon as the curtain dropped I raced backstage, searching, flailing, _desperate._ I found him offstage right, and when he saw me, I knew he wanted to turn around and leave, so I grabbed his arm.

I whispered, “Oliver.”

He just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to you.” His hands were closed into neat fists by his sides, but he was trembling. “I’m just as angry with you as I am with him. No. I’m _more_ angry with you. I can’t believe you –”

“Oliver, stop. Please. Look at me.”

He stopped, and he swallowed hard, and then he turned and looked. My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my sleeves.

“Leah, what are you _doing_? It’s over. You had to know that when you –“

I yanked at the fabric, the button popped off and skittered across the floor. I held my arm out, and I hated the way my voice wavered. “ _Please._ It wasn’t like that. I told you. It wasn’t – I didn’t – he wanted…”

He stared down at my wrist. I’d never seen that look on his face before, not even when he was acting. It was just the same as it had been moments before, Oliver, _broken_ , wrong, jaw set.

Bruises had blossomed purple around my wrist, visible even under the makeup. I scrubbed furiously at the concealer. “There was no – I told him to stop. I _begged_ him. I don’t know what would have happened if Colin hadn’t shown up.”

I couldn’t say the first half of the truth, couldn’t tell him how I’d gotten into the situation in the first place.

He whispered, “He did that to you?”

“Oliver, I –” I let my hand fall, looked at the ground. I’d have to find a way to replace the lost button, or just go onstage with my sleeve hanging open. I’d have to find _something_. I’d have to – tears were welling behind my eyes, dangerous. The truth was muddled in with my excuses.

“I wouldn’t.” I repeated, a hollow ache spreading through my ribcage, eyes stinging. “I _love_ you.”

He repeated, voice eerily steady, “He did that to you?”

I nodded, the movement robotic and faltering.

Oliver took a deep breath in through his mouth and let it out through his nose. “I’m going to kill him.” 

I whispered, “Are you mad at me?”

“At you? I thought – oh, god. I thought.” He reached up to my face. His fingers were shaking, but they stilled when he touched my cheek. “I thought that was it. I thought you’d picked him.”

I shook my head, closed my eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

In that exact moment, I knew. I had to tell him the truth. The whole truth. I’d always be worried about losing him if I didn’t. If I never told him the truth, I’d always be waiting for the bomb to drop. I’d have to detonate it myself.

When I exhaled, my breath came out shaky. “I need to – I need to talk to you after. I need to – it’s important.”

“Okay.” He said. “We’ll talk after. Right now, I –”

Roseanne caught his eye, nodded.

“It’s time.”

I was glad for the endless hours of practicing. That was all that got me through the show. I barely recall any of it, just that it was all infused by a muted, pulsing horror.

There was a brief five-minute interlude where all three of us were offstage, and dread filled every moment leading up to it.

It was just as awful as I’d imagined it might be.

The second we left the stage, Oliver advanced on Gabriel, shoving him back against the wall so hard I heard a dull thud. He grabbed Gabriel by the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll kill you.” His voice was strained, grip on Gabriel’s shirt tight. “I will. I’ll ruin your face so you’ll never perform again.”

“Oh?” Gabriel didn’t look in the least bit worried. There was a nearly manic glint to his eye as he considered Oliver.

“How _dare_ you.” Oliver growled. “How dare you hurt her. How dare you lay a hand on –”

“Hardly my fault I got mixed signals, based on our… history.”

I felt my stomach turn to ice. Gabriel glanced over at me, grin knowing, conspiratorial.

I turned away, but not before I saw Oliver’s grip slacken.

His question came out strangled. “History?”

“Ask her.” Gabriel sneered. “Ask her about the other times.”

Roseanne looked nervously from me to Gabriel to Oliver. “Guys.” Her voice shook. “Come on. It’s time.”

Oliver let go, stepped backwards, glanced over at me, the question visible on his face. I didn’t know how to answer.

Gabriel stalked away into the wings, where I knew he would double back to the other side for his entrance.

The stagehand whispered, “Thirty seconds.”

I practically vaulted over top of a prop to get to Oliver, who stood looking at me, misery carved into his features.

He asked “What –”

I didn’t let him finish. I kissed him.

I put everything I had into that kiss, just in case. In case he wouldn’t want to kiss me again when he found out the truth. I tangled my hands in his hair, pulled him as close to me as I could.

When I broke away, I whispered against the skin of his cheek, and my eyes burned. “I love you. I choose you. And I’ll explain what he meant after the show.”

The opening strain of the chord sounded, indicating that it was time. Linking my arm through Oliver’s, I looked up at him. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t have time to answer, his expression muted anguish. Whether he was ready or not, it was time.

I felt him become someone else beside me, but I didn’t have anything left to do that myself. Right then, I was built on distress, anxiety making a messy tangle of my internal organs.

When I looked at him, he was no longer Oliver, just Escamillo, bullfighter. And then we were onstage together for the last time in our Conolly experience, and there was a tiny voice in my head that said _and maybe for the last time ever_.

He turned to me, voice bright, mellow as always.

“Si tu m'aimes, Carmen, tu pourras, tout à l'heure,

être fière de moi.”

_If you love me, Carmen soon_

_you can be proud of me._

There was real pain in his eyes.

I tried to speak through the words of my response, imprint the meaning on them so he’d feel it.

 _Ah! I love you, Escamillo, I love you,_ __  
and may I die if I have ever loved  
anyone as much as you!

Then, even though it wasn’t staged, I leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek before he exited.

And here it was, at last. The pivotal scene. The hardest to get through.

Two steps centre stage. Arm out with the high note. Look afraid.

It wasn’t acting. Looking at Gabriel, I _was_ afraid. Something was deeply wrong, and as I spun, the choreography felt mindless as the pieces started to slot into place.

My mouth was moving, the notes were coming out of me, but I was somewhere else.

There was still a part of the story that was missing. It had been worrying away in the back of my mind for so long, but I’d been missing a critical piece until last night, when it had nearly happened to me.

Mariah.

Her disappearance.

Gabriel. Chivalry, at face value. What had it really been?

Her absence had been unusual, at first, strange in its mysterious haziness. _An incident._ That’s what Dr. Davis had called it. An incident.

Why had I never heard Gabriel even _mention_ Mariah?

Why had Hannah seemed _so_ upset when I had told her that Gabriel and I had been together? Why had she decided it was her business?

Hadn’t Mariah been her friend?

Was it possible that Mariah had dropped out because of Gabriel? Because of something he had done?

I never would have believed it until last night. Now it felt like the only reasonable extension of truth. He’d taken her back to her room the night of the Hallowe’en party. He’d – could he have?

If Hannah had known, if she had brought the truth to him… what had he done?

If Gabriel saw the fear in my eyes right then, he didn’t let on. Maybe he thought I was just acting. His fingers clamped around my arm, vicelike, and I knew right then that even if it was just a show, I was powerless. I would have been powerless the night before, too, if it weren’t for Colin.

Revulsion washed over me. The moments were ticking down, ten seconds, nine, eight.

I had to do something. After all of this was over. How could I prove it?

Seven, six, five.

He’d been fooling me all semester, every action deliberate. He’d been convincing me it was Audra right from the beginning.

Four, three.

I’d fallen for it hook, line, sinker.

Two.

I’d _kissed him_.

One.

Gabriel didn’t stab me like we’d practiced. There was nothing gentle about the hilt of the collapsible dagger exploding against my ribcage, and for a single, awful second I thought: _he’s killed me, too_.

I didn’t even have to try. It felt like an extension of my true feelings when I collapsed against Gabriel, arms flung wide behind me, let myself pretend to die, spiral away, gasping at the ache where he’d hit me, adrenaline coursing through me. On some level I was aware that the show was over, I was done. All I had to do now was lie there on the stage, wait for the final song to end.

I _wished_ he had really stabbed me.

The chorus sang Escamillo’s triumph from backstage, and I lay perfectly still as Gabriel sang Don Jose’s anguish over me, trying to contain my breathing, trying to contain the tears that had come unbidden and were rolling down the side of my cheek and pooling in my ear.

If I was right, he’d killed someone. The man I’d just held and sang to was a killer. He’d lied to my face about everything all semester, and his confession last night – what had that been, a diversion?

Something in my chest seized when I thought of Audra. How could I have ever believed it was her?

I saw the darkness of the curtain sweeping down.

I should get up, now. I should stand. I didn’t have to stay laying down there.

I hurt where he’d hit me. I hurt where he’d grabbed me yesterday. Every part of me hurt on the inside.

The audience roared their approval in applause, but I was only dimly aware of it.

Gabriel held out a hand.

I took it blindly, let him heave me up to standing.

“Nice going.” He said. “That was an awesome ending.”

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. I just slapped him, as hard as I could.

He stayed right where he was, head turned away from me, for an eternal second. Then he looked up, blinking. “I guess I probably deserved that.”

My palm stung. I just stood there, breathing hard, as Roseanne hissed, “Get back here!”

I came to myself, shook my head, then stalked backstage to my place, fists balled at my side, waiting for the curtain call.

Colin stood in the corner.

I rushed to him. “Colin. Colin – _please_. What happened to Mariah? I know you know.”

His eyes glittered through the gloom, fingers clenched the fabric of the heavy curtain. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

“I _need_ to.” My voice was shaking. “I know you and Hannah figured it out. I know Hannah died. I know you know how it happened. And I think I know why you’re not saying anything. Colin. _Please_.”

He was silent.

“Your arm.” I whispered. “He did that, didn’t he? He thought you’d told me something, but you never did. He hurt you.”

“I have to go on.” He whispered.

It was true.

I let him go, feeling helpless.

I had never been so relieved to be the last one called onstage. It gave me time to think, to compose myself, because I knew even then that I would be suspended in that moment right before he stabbed me for a long time.

I heard the audience applauding for the others, the orchestra playing through themes.

I waited for Roseanne’s go ahead before lurching onstage.

The audience roared. It almost – _almost_ – didn’t register that they were applauding for _me_. When I understood, I blinked away my shock, stood with my head held high, smile wide, through all of the last bows.

That moment, that shining moment, was nearly enough for me to forget. Not quite.


	42. 39.

My stomach turned to lead as the applause began to die down. The smile plastered across my face tipped towards fraudulent, my eyes tracking Dr. Rutledge’s progress as he climbed up onto the stage, cane in one hand, microphone in the other.

“What a show!” His voice boomed through the auditorium.

There was a second round of applause, some whistling from the audience.

“The students at this school never cease to amaze me.” Dr. Rutledge’s smile was wide and genuine. “As is tradition, at the end of each year, we announce the next opera, so all of you second-years, hold onto your hats! I’m thrilled to announce next fall’s production will be Puccini’s _La Boheme_!”

He had to wait several seconds for the applause to die down.

Oliver was at my side, a steadying hand on my shoulder. I didn’t deserve it, but I was too weary to object. “Are you alright?”

I nodded before I’d even considered the question, and I could see in the furrow of his brow that he knew it was a compulsory motion.

“However, this year,” Rutledge continued, glancing into our group, finding Gabriel, “I understand there is a second important announcement.”

I stared at Gabriel, wide-eyed. An announcement? Was Gabriel going to pin the crime on Audra publicly?

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Gabriel strode forward, took the microphone from Dr. Rutledge’s hand.

Someone in the audience gave a rather enthusiastic whoop, and he grinned out towards the audience.

“Thank you, professor, for giving me the stage.” He smiled, looking for all of the world like a perfect stranger, like no one I’d ever met. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time.”

My stomach turned to ice. I wanted to run out there, stop him, but my feet had turned to stone.

“Audra. Where are you? Come out here.”

Audra emerged from the back, looking very small and pale.

“You’re a star.” He said, smiling, holding a hand out. “Everyone here knows that.”

There was a small ripple of laughter from the chorus.

Audra’s smile was tiny, wavering, as she approached him.

“You’ve knocked the socks off of everyone here since day one, myself included.” He took her hands. “But you’re more than just any star. You’re my north star.”

Initially, Audra looked bewildered, but she figured it out a half-second after I did, and her eyes widened. She glanced out over her shoulder into the auditorium.

Someone wolf whistled. The sound rang sharp through the room, grating and unpleasant.

“You ground me. You’ve always been my safe place. We’ve been a dynamic duo for two years, and I’d like to go on and conquer the stages of the world together, forever.”

Audra looked back down at Gabriel as he sank down onto one knee, fumbling in his pocket and producing a small black box. “Audra. Marry me?”

Oliver’s grip on my shoulder tightened, and when I looked up at him, his expression was stony. He muttered, “What is he _doing_?”

He opened the box, and it glittered.

I had to wonder the same thing. I couldn’t imagine what Audra was feeling. If I was right, and she knew about everything he’d done, she had to be horrified.

But if Audra was anything, she was a skilled performer. One hand covering her mouth, she nodded, and I could see that she was smiling, and crying, but I couldn’t tell whether her tears were out of happiness or distress.

The auditorium erupted into violent applause, even louder than we’d gotten for the show.

I felt strangely detached from the moment, distinctly aware of every emotion as it rushed through me: shock, confusion, horror, disgust.

 _It would hurt more than Oliver if you were_ , Cecily had said.

Where was he?

My eyes darted through the crowded stage, searching, and when I found his face, I felt the ache mirrored in my chest.

Colin was watching - I’d been hoping against hope that somehow, he wasn’t, that he’d gotten distracted or by some small miracle he’d already left the stage – and his face didn’t look entirely his own. Something in the usual set of his mouth had gone slack. It took me a second to realize that I was seeing Colin stripped down to nothing, no air of superiority to protect him. This was Colin caught by surprise and stabbed through the heart.

Quietly, subtly, he turned and disappeared into the wings.

-

I thought the formalities of the evening would never end. To my surprise, my parents had come to the show – Oliver’s doing, I later found out – and my mother’s eyes were red rimmed as she told me that she’d sobbed through the whole thing. Even my father seemed begrudgingly impressed.

I was passed from hand to hand, I received bouquets, congratulations, invitations to audition, smiles wider than I could fathom, until they all blended together, one leering face that pressed in on me.

It felt like hours until I could escape. _Hours_ until I could find a quiet place to be. I was tilting, backwards, over and over, dizzy with the high of the performance, delirious from being _seen_ by so many.

At long last, after Dr. Davis gave me an approving nod, I slipped away, down the hall, towards my room.

It was almost midnight. This time last semester, Hannah was already dead.

I rubbed the heel of my palm against my eye, trying to ease the stabbing pain that was forming there, and so when I opened my bedroom door, at first I didn’t see the figure sitting at my desk.

Colin looked like he’d been drinking even though I knew he hadn’t, his glasses tilted at a jaunty angle, hair sticking up in every direction.

I wouldn’t have known he’d been crying if it hadn’t been for the tracks in his stage makeup when he looked up at me.

“He’s going to _marry_ her.” He said, before I could say anything. “All this and he’s going to marry her.”

I shook my head. “No he isn’t. He’s not. He – it was _him,_ Colin. It was his fault.”

He nodded miserably. “I know.”

I’d already known that he knew, but I was still shocked at the ease with which he admitted it.

“I’m sorry I ruined things with you and Oliver.” He moaned. “I wasn’t trying to mess that up for you.”

“I messed it up.” I said, automatically. “A long time ago.”

Colin sunk in on himself, bent low, as though whatever thought he’d just had was cutting him open.

“Colin.” I said, trying to stay calm, keep the urgency out of my voice. “Talk to me.”

His words came rapidly, almost nonsensical, blurring together. “I knew – even though I knew it was never going to be real – it didn’t _matter_ , did it? I could convince myself it didn’t matter.”

“Colin. What happened. What did he do?”

“When I saw you two together – it just – oh, god.” He gripped his fist to his chest, bent forward, shoulders heaving.

“It wasn’t like that.” I said, reaching towards him. My fingers were trembling. “I wouldn’t have.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth like the air hurt him. “I know. But it didn’t matter. It just. It showed me – he’s never going to change. He’d never have changed, no matter how hard I hoped.”

“You still love him, don’t you? After all this?”

Colin laughed, a high-pitched merciless sound that turned into a choked sob.

“What’s been going on with you two? What does he have on you?”

He shook his head. “He told me – he’d tell me I was all that mattered. Like he’d die without me. And – god – even though I knew it wasn’t true, it couldn’t ever be true, that’s not who he is, _fuck,_ I liked to hear it. And when we were together, I could pretend like maybe it _was_ true.”

I was starting to understand, a horrible, sucking, sensation, like I was falling, but I’d never hit the ground.

“He only did it because he knew I’d never tell his fucking secret. I’d never – I’d take it to the grave. I’d fucking – I’d die before I got him in trouble, if it meant I could still –”

He was gasping, now, tears streaming down his face. “I’d let him kill me. I’d let him – I’d –”

“Colin.” The tremor had moved from my hand and through my body, I was shivering despite the heat of the room, the flush of my cheeks. “Colin. What did he do to you?”

“He let me love him.” He rocked forward and backward on his haunches. “He let me love him like maybe there would be – one day…” He sucked in a shuddering gasp. “I knew there was never going to be a one day. Not even if there wasn’t an Audra. Not even if you weren’t involved. He never cared. _Fuck._ I knew that the whole time. I was just a secret. I was a – I don’t think he ever even enjoyed it. I was just a means to an end.”

I understood, once, then again, the first realization horrible, the second a memory.

The spilling of the secret seemed to have dragged Colin away from whatever ledge he’d been standing on and drawn him closer to Earth. “He told me about you. Last night. He told me about – how – before –”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Last year? With Oliver? You were still dating.”

“It was a mistake.” I gestured helplessly. “I was scared, and I – you know how Gabriel is. I broke up with Oliver right after.”

“You say that like it’s an excuse.”

“You’re one to talk.” The words came out harsh, grating. “You knew this whole time. You knew what he’d done and you still let him – manipulate you into – I don’t know –”

“It wasn’t manipulation.” Colin snapped. “I was never going to tell.”

I shook my head. “Whatever.”

“So we’re both fucked up.” He stood straight up and began to pace. “But we knew that already.”

“We have to do something. Turn him in.” I felt a helpless bubble of mirth threatening to burst in my chest.

Colin’s voice was eerily steady. “We can’t.”

“Why not? He’s a murderer, Colin.”

“Obstruction of justice. Gabriel –” he clenched his fist “– won’t go down without a fight. He’ll drag me down with him. Audra too, and you, if he could get away with it. All we have is speculation, anyway. I don’t know the details. I don’t know how it happened. If we grilled Audra, maybe, but she’s terrified.”

“Don’t you have proof, though?” I flung my arms out.

He stared at me.

I shook my head, feeling that of all people, Colin should find this obvious. “Your journal. The names and dates and secrets. Surely _this_ one is big enough to land in there.”

He scoffed. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

I held my hands out, bewildered.

Colin reached into his breast pocket, yanked the journal out and tossed it onto the desk, where it landed with a sharp smack and then fell open to a middle page.

It was blank.

Colin looked at me, scratched the side of his nose.

I stared at him, then at the journal. I picked it up, rifled through the pages. Nothing.

Every page in the book was blank.

I looked up at him.

He held his hand out for it.

“In war,” Colin said, as he took the book, held it up, ‘which this is, you _always_ have to be prepared to plead the fifth. And if you’re going to, you have to back yourself up. Silence is a privilege for the clever.”

“But – the _secrets_.” I shook my head. “What – where do you keep them, then?”

He laughed, sounding incredulous. “Where do I – up _here_ , obviously.”

Colin tapped the journal against his left temple.

I stared. “So it’s not that you _actually_ have proof of people’s secrets.”

“It’s letting them _think_ I have proof. Just knowing the secret isn’t enough. It’s the fear that I could do something with it if I wanted.”

I let out a huff of air. “You brilliant bastard. You remember all of them?”

He didn’t smile, but there was the thought of one in his expression when he nodded.

“That’s how you got him, right?”

He nodded, then whatever smile might have been there dissolved. “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I noted, with some relief, that he was starting to look like himself again. Colour flooded his cheeks as he ran his thumb absent mindedly over his bottom lip.

“Why would he have done it? It doesn’t make sense. If he was after you, and had this going on with me, why would he propose?”

“To keep Audra quiet, maybe?” I felt certain I was missing something.

“He talks about her like she’s made of porcelain.” Colin sounded derisive. “Like she’d fall apart if she ever found out about us. I knew the real reason he didn’t want to come clean was that he never meant any of it, but still…”

“He said he was worried about her.” I shook my head. “Even when he told me that, it sounded sketchy. This whole time, he’s been trying to make us think it was her. Why?”

Colin’s head jerked up towards me, the colour draining from his face. “Oh, god.”

“What?”

“What did he say to you, about her? What did he say, exactly?”

“I don’t know – that he was worried about what she might do to herself.”

Colin stared at me. “Do you remember if those were his exact words?”

“Yes – I think so. Why?”

“He said exactly the same thing to me. Exactly the same thing.” He ran a hand through his hair so that it stuck straight up. “Oh, god. He’s been trying to convince us she’s about to fall apart.”

I felt something turn to stone in my gut.

We just stared at each other.

He said, “The proposal. It had to be a diversion. That wasn’t about her. That was about _us_.”

A shiver started at the base of my spine and made it’s way up my back. I blinked away the horror that was pooling in my bones. “You don’t think he’d… he wouldn’t.”

A muscle in Colin’s jaw twitched. “Wouldn’t he?”

I blew out a shaky breath. “We have to find Audra.”

As it turned out, we didn’t need to go far, because Audra came to us.


	43. 40.

A triple tap at my door, soft, hesitant.

When I opened it, Audra stood at the threshold, looking miniscule and pale, trembling. 

She came in without a word, glancing side to side, wringing her wrists. “I just lost him.”

When neither of us said anything, she tossed a sidelong look over her shoulder. “I had to. I didn’t know where else to come.”

“I know.” I said, and closed the door behind me.

“Neither of you are congratulating me.” She didn’t look annoyed, just afraid, eyes darting around the room.

“Doesn’t really seem like congratulations are in order.” Colin’s eyes were on the ring. “Is it real?”

She whimpered. “I don’t know.”

“Audra.” I said, voice quiet. “Audra. It’s okay. We know. We know everything.”

She burst into tears, then began to wrench at the ring until she cast it off, where it bounced on the carpet and landed, sparkling, in the light cast from the lamp.

Colin bent low to pick it up, Audra averted her eyes.

“You have to tell us what happened.” I knelt in front of her. “Audra. Please.”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell anyone. I can’t – he told me if I told, he’d – he knew how to make it look like it was me. It wasn’t me. I promise it wasn’t me. I never would have –”

“We’re past that.” I insisted. “We’re not going to let him blame it on you. What happened that night?”

She let out a slow breath.

“We need to know. We want to help.”

A muscle in her cheek twitched – annoyance.

“Will you let us help you?”

Behind Audra, Colin shook his head, hand to his face, weary.

Audra looked up at me, blue eyes large. “I don’t know how to start.”

“You were there when it happened?”

She shook her head. “Just after. I was going to find Gabriel. I’d looked everywhere and I knew he went up there sometimes on his own. I didn’t think he’d be there with anyone.”

“I heard their voices – you know how the tunnel echoes up there – and so I followed, because I thought they were just arguing like they had been for weeks.” 

Audra’s eyes were glassy as she recounted her story, sounding a thousand miles away. 

“I had this awful feeling, though – I knew it was serious.” She raised her hand up to her mouth, glancing then at me, then looked away. “She sounded so _angry_ , and so did he. It was right when I turned the corner that I heard it.” 

I said nothing, feeling sick. 

“He had pushed her backwards, and she fell down those last few steps and hit her head on the corner of the stairs.” 

She stared resolutely at the wall. “Hannah didn’t even scream. Gabriel didn’t know what had happened at first. I mean, _I_ didn’t realize what had happened at first either.” 

“She didn’t look dead.” She said, and her voice was hollow. “I didn’t think she was. Neither did Gabriel. I didn’t even notice that she was bleeding right away. It just looked like she had fallen and gone to sleep.” 

“But she wouldn’t wake up. And then she didn’t have a pulse. Now –” Her voice began to stutter “– now I know that it’s possible. I didn’t think it could happen like that.” She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “She hit the corner of the step and it killed her.”

For a second, I thought she was finished, that this was all she was going to tell me, but then she continued to talk. 

“I tried to get Gabriel to come with me, to tell somebody, to do _something_ , but all he was saying was that I should think of how it would look, and of course I thought about it and he was right, and so…” She looked at her lap. 

“Throwing her off of the tower wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to, but he was already dragging her over. He kept saying that it was the only way. He had this… wild look in his eye. He looked like he was going crazy. I’ve never been so scared, I swear. And… I didn’t stop him. I _helped_ him. Watching her go over was the worst moment of my life.” Audra was shuddering now, as though she was right there in the memory. “She didn’t even know she’d got the part.” 

She laughed, but it was a joyless sound. “I mean, we didn’t really know, yet, but of course I knew.”

“So… then what did you do?” I found my voice. 

“Well, I wanted to just leave, just go somewhere. I felt so terrible I almost wanted to -” She blinked rapidly and shook her head. “He said that we had to go make sure it looks like she jumped. I didn’t want to, but he said he couldn’t let me just go off without him, and that it needed to be done. So we walked all the way down the tower to the bottom.” 

“I nearly threw up when I saw her. I know you never saw the body, but it was just like Hannah, but all wrong angles. It was worse than seeing her there on the step. She had fallen onto her back, so it really did look like she had just… jumped.” 

“And Gabriel just stood there, looking at her, for ages. Her eyes were open. I had to nearly drag him away.” For a moment I thought she was finished, but then she spoke again. “I still don’t know if I have the whole true story of what happened before I got there. I know she knew what had happened to Mariah.” Her eyes darted towards Colin and then away. “I don’t know if it was just a mistake or whether he meant to hurt her.” She was speaking quickly now. “At first, I thought of course not, he could never, but now I’m not so sure. It’s been – since she died – it’s been hell.” She was glancing at the door every few seconds as she spoke, as though she was sure he might burst through it at any moment. “Of course we couldn’t tell anyone. We had to make a public spectacle of getting back together. That was my idea. I thought – rightly – that it would give us a good alibi. That we were together, like you and Oliver were together. Now I wish I’d never thought of it. Pretending to still love –” She broke off so quickly I thought she had heard something, but she was just shaking her head almost imperceptibly. 

“Why didn’t you just turn him in?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just go to the police right then?”

She was staring at me like the answer to that was obvious. “I told him I was going to, after we were back inside. I went ballistic. I was screaming, and hitting him, and he just stood there and took it. After I was done, he just looked at me and laid it out right there like he’d already thought it through. He told me that if I went to the police, he’d take me down with him. He said that really, the evidence was stacked against me, because I was the jealous competitor. My prints were on the body, too, if they looked for that. He told me – he said that we both knew he was smart enough to convince everyone it was me. And he was right. I didn’t have an alibi, because I had been there.”

“I’m terrified of him, Leah.” She gripped my arm, her hand quaking. “After that he made me promise I wouldn’t go to the police, and I did. I promised him I’d never tell. I half think that if I had, he’d find a way to convince them I’d acted alone out of jealousy.” She was nearly hysterical now. “He’s a completely different person now when we’re alone. Half of the time I’m afraid of what he might do. He’s totally unpredictable.” 

She let go of my arm and buried her face in her hands. “I just… I don’t know what to do. These have been the worst months of my life.”

“Three of us know now.” Colin said, very quiet. “He won’t be able to get out of it anymore.”

“You’d turn him in?” Audra looked incredulous.

Colin, for once, looked a little disarmed. “What – of course I would.”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’m not stupid. I know there’s been something going on between you.”

He blinked. “You never said.”

“I was just relieved to be left alone sometimes.” Audra whispered.

I stood, pressed a steadying hand against my sore ribcage. “We have to find Gabriel. Or Rutledge. Or somebody.”

Colin looked once, searchingly, to Audra, then up at me. “Tonight?”

“Why would we wait? He’s – he’s dangerous, obviously.” My fingers grazed my wrist, shuddering at the memory. “I could distract him, maybe, if you can find and explain everything to Oliver and Cecily.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” Audra whispered.

“You can lock the door.” I insisted. “Or go with Colin.”

“Like this?” Audra gestured to her tear-stained face. “Everyone will know something is wrong.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes, but just barely. “Then stay. But keep the door locked. He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Audra sniffled, then shook her head. “I only told Dr. Davis, because I wasn’t feeling well, and I – well. That was true enough.”

“So only Dr. Davis knows you’re here?” I confirmed.

She nodded, eyes cast down.

I swallowed, then nodded. “Alright. Lock the door behind us. Don’t let anyone in until you know it’s us.”

She nodded again, but didn’t speak, staring at her hands twisting in her lap.

Colin and I exchanged one last hasty glance before we set off in opposite directions.

Leaving her there was the worst mistake I’d ever made.


	44. 41.

I raced through the hallways, peering through every doorway I could find. Where was Gabriel? Where would he be right now?

Logically, he’d be looking for Audra, if my suspicions were correct about what was going to happen tonight.

I didn’t find Gabriel.

I did, by chance, run into Dr. Davis, in the middle of a conversation with several representatives.

I hovered on the edge of the group, nervous, before I came to myself and burst in, interrupting.

“Have you talked to Gabriel tonight?” I gripped her arm, aware of how insane I must look. “Did you tell him where Audra was?”

“Yes, not even five minutes ago.” She smiled at me, looking mildly concerned, glancing at the representatives as if to say that I should know better. “You just missed him. What’s going on?”

I swore under my breath, not waiting for her scandalized remark before I tore back around the way I had come, cutting through the groups of people still hanging about.

My lungs burned with the effort as I sprinted back down the hallway, tripping on my dress.

“Leah!” Someone shouted.

I slid to a halt.

Colin met me from an adjacent hallway, flanked by Oliver and Cecily, who both looked utterly bewildered. “I found them. And I got this. What’s happening?”

He held in his hand one of the pocket recorders we used for making cassettes of our voice lessons, though what he was going to use it for, I wasn’t sure.

“Gabriel found Dr. Davis.” I panted. “He knows where she is.”

“Oh, fuck.” Colin blanched, and took off running.

As we ran behind him, I explained in halting fits and starts what had happened, unable to make eye contact with Oliver, afraid of what that might do to me.

When we arrived at the dormitories, my worst fear was confirmed.

My bedroom door hung open. Whether he’d talked her into opening it or Audra had opened the door voluntarily, I didn’t want to know. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

Colin darted into the room, looked around wildly. When he emerged, his expression was bleak. “She’s gone.”

“Look!” Cecily cried, suddenly, point at Audra’s bedroom door, which hung ajar. “There’s something in here.”

She burst into Audra’s room and came out with a sheet of paper in her fist.

Colin’s face dropped. “Oh no.”

“Oh, yes.” Cecily scanned the paper. “Listen to this. ‘ _I can’t go on. I can’t hope to live the rest of my life knowing that I pushed a friend towards considering’_ –” Cecily cut off, her voice trembling. “This is some _serious_ bullshit. Gabriel expected us to believe this?”

“It’s in her handwriting.” I said, but I knew that meant nothing.

Colin snatched the page from Cecily, and I saw that his hands were shaking. “Look at this. Look at the edges.”

He handed it over, covering his eyes with his hand.

The paper was creased, the edges soft.

“Those are some well-loved folds.” Oliver remarked, darkly. “He must have made her write this ages ago.”

“And he was just carrying it around all this time?” I shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“He can’t possibly go through with this.” Cecily said. “Not now that he knows we know. Audra would have told him we now, right?”

Colin shivered. “You haven’t seen him when he’s convinced of something. It’s eerie. He can be so… _determined._ ”

“We have to find them.” Oliver looked around wildly. “Where would they have gone?”

Colin and I glanced at each other. My voice shook. “I thought that was obvious.”


	45. 42.

It was bitterly cold up on that tower. In the open air, the wind whipped from all sides, howling like an injured animal. 

I was the first around the corner, but Gabriel must have heard us coming, because he whirled around, and when I skidded to a halt, he was facing us, and Audra was on her knees at his side, stuck there by a tight hold on her shoulder.

The others came up behind me, forming a tight circle.

"So." Gabriel eyed us warily. “What brings us all up here tonight?”

There was no lightness to his tone.

Audra looked up at us with red-rimmed eyes. It was apparent from the awkward jaunt of her shoulder that Gabriel was gripping it, hard. 

"You have to stop." My own voice surprised me. "Gabriel." 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was even, betraying nothing. 

"We know everything." Colin said. "Everything. All of us." 

Gabriel’s eyes snapped down to Audra, then back up. “What?" 

"We know it was you." Oliver moved to step forward, but Colin grabbed his arm, and I saw right then what he’d seen: a terrible glint in Gabriel’s eye.

"You don't know anything." Gabriel jerked Audra's shoulder. She began silently sobbing, her breath hitching. 

"Why did you kill her?" Colin's voice was measured. “Tell them.”

"I didn't kill her." He jerked Audra closer toward him, and she let out a harried shriek. 

Up close, Gabriel looked unhinged. His hair hung in uncharacteristically messy strands over his gleaming eyes, but most unsettling was his hollow expression. 

He looked like a madman.

"Do you really think I would kill her?" He barked. "You think I'd kill Hannah?" 

"I don't think you meant to." Colin was speaking slowly and carefully. "I think it was a crime of passion." 

"It wasn't a crime," Gabriel's voice cracked. 

Unhinged, I thought. I was glad that Colin was doing the talking, because I was petrified. 

"It was an accident." The hard edge to his voice was gone, and in its absence, Gabriel just sounded broken.

''An _accident_." Oliver’s tone was scathing.

Audra laughed, a high, hysterical sound, and Gabriel was jerked out of some sort of reverie. 

"She jumped." His voice was flat. "Just like they said." 

“ _Stop_ it.” Cecily’s voice shook. “Stop that right now. We know that’s not true.”

He stared her down. 

Nobody spoke. 

Audra was still crying, trying to stay as still and quiet as possible. 

"She jumped," I said, "just like Audra was going to?" 

Gabriel stared at me. 

I pulled the paper out of my pocket, my fingers trembling. 

"It has –” My voice was shaking. "It has all been too much. I cannot go on any longer." 

I looked up at him. He looked stricken. 

"Life seems to carry purpose no longer. I have to follow –” I broke off, my throat suddenly too tight for words. 

"Do you think any of us would have believed that?" Colin sounded exasperated. “Do you think you’d have gotten away with it for one second?”

"She was going to tell." Gabriel lashed out, words nearly as vicious as his expression.

"It's too late," Audra sobbed, "I was telling you, it's too late. They already know." 

Gabriel looked from her, then to us, then back to her. "I thought you were just saying that.” 

"She told me." I found my voice again. “She told _us_.”

Gabriel stared me down. “How did you know we would be here?” When he spoke, his voice was cool, but his fingers trembled. “ _She_ didn’t know.” 

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Colin spat. “Did you really think this plan was _so_ brilliant none of us would be able to figure it out?”

“It was in the note.” I said. “That she was following Hannah.”

“Stupid.” Gabriel mused. “Stupid. I should have worded that differently.”

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Colin was incredulous. "You were going to _kill_ her, and you’re talking about _word_ placement.” 

There was a long pause in which Gabriel looked at us like a caged animal, his gaze flicking from one of us to the next. 

“Now's your chance to tell us what really happened.” Oliver said. “Come on, man. Tell me this isn’t all true.”

"You don't have any proof of anything, do you?" Gabriel spat. 

"With five witnesses, I don't think we need any.” I told him. “We already have one confession. It’s… you _have_ to tell us.”

Tears slid off of Audra’s face, fast, silent.

Gabriel was breathing heavily. "She was already dead." He said, his voice leaden. "Why not make it look like a suicide? Nothing I could do would make her not dead." 

"How'd she die, Gabriel?" 

He swallowed hard.

For a moment, I thought that the set of his jaw meant that he wasn't going to say any more. 

"She slipped.” He looked pained. “She lost her balance. I was there, wrong place, wrong time." He paused. "She fell. She hit her head on the steps." He jerked his head behind us.

I couldn’t look.

“You’re still trying to make it look like an accident?” Colin’s voice was quivering. “You _coward._ ”

A muscle worked in Gabriel’s jaw.

“I know the truth.” Colin said. “I know what happened to Mariah.”

“Mariah?” Oliver’s voice was wooden. “What does she have to do with this?”

Gabriel barked out a laugh.

“Everything.” Colin’s answer was simple.

“Dr. Davis called it an _incident_.” My hands, balled into fists, shook violently. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”

“He knew, you know.” Gabriel jerked his head at Colin. “He knew, the whole time.”

Cecily rounded on him. “I _knew_ you were hiding something. What happened?”

Colin took the slightest step backwards. “I didn’t _know_ , ever. Hannah told me what she _thought_ had happened, that Mariah had told her that she thought something had happened to her the night of the Hallowe’en party, but that she was too drunk to remember right. She didn’t wasn’t sure who helped her back to her room, just that she was pretty roughed up the next day.”

Cecily’s intake of breath was sharp. “I could have told you it was him.”

“We all could have.” Colin agreed.

She shook her head. “You were defending him, even then.”

He shrugged, misery evident in the defeated nature of the gesture.

Cecily’s chest heaved, eyes back on Gabriel. “She was underage. Did you know that? She wasn’t eighteen yet.”

Audra was looking at the wall, her eyes mirroring agony and nothing else, and I knew right then that she hadn’t known this part of the story.

Gabriel said nothing.

“And then you seemed…” Colin’s lip twitched, his voice tightened, “ _so_ concerned when she dropped out. I think that was when Hannah started putting the pieces together. I know that was when it started to make sense to me. But I thought, no, not _Gabriel,_ he would _never_ do something so wrong.”

His fist clenched beside him. “And then Hannah went missing.” He paused for a long time. “And I couldn’t let myself think about it, not as murder, until Leah showed me a note. I think it was meant for me, but I never got it until it was far past too late.”

Something twisted in my gut. _I’m going to ask._ That was all the note had said. To anyone who didn’t know, it meant nothing, but to Colin, it would have been confirmation of an already horrible secret turned worse.

“She came up to confront you.” Colin asked. “She came up to get the truth about Mariah, and you killed her.”

Gabriel was breathing hard.

Oliver made a low groaning sound, drawing his hands to his face and dragging at the skin. “Why cover for him, Colin? All this time? If you knew?”

Cecily and I exchanged a pained look.

“I don’t have answer for that that will make any sense.” Colin’s voice was laced with misery, months of hurt in one sentence.

“Love.” Cecily said.

Colin shook his head. “Not that. Something I thought was – _like_ it.”

Oliver looked from Colin to Gabriel, comprehension dawning.

“I didn’t know Mariah was underage until after.” Gabriel said.

“But you did know she was too drunk to consent.” Oliver’s voice was accusatory.

Gabriel jerked his head noncommittally.

Cecily exhaled fast, like all of the air was leaving her body. “So what then? You got into a fight about it, and she hit her head.”

For a second, I thought Gabriel wasn’t going to say anything more, but then the words came tumbling out. "Audra found us. By the time we felt we could move her, she was already dead. She hit the stairs at a funny angle." 

He was speaking rapidly, an eerie look of calm settled on his face. 

"It made sense to make it look like a suicide. We were on top of the tower already. Emotions were heightened from the show. I thought no one would ever know, if we both kept our mouths shut." He glared down at Audra. 

''How could you?" Cecily was indignant. 

"I already told you, it was an accident. After it was all said and done, I just did what I had to do to keep myself out of prison.” 

"You think you're going to stay out of prison after all this?" Colin had lost all coolness and his voice shook with fury. "No matter how you slice it, it was your fault." 

Gabriel let go of Audra. She slumped to the ground, her shoulders shaking. "I'm not going to prison." He stared right at Colin. “You promised I’d be okay. You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

A silent tear slipped down Colin’s face, and he didn’t wipe it away. “At best, that was manslaughter. Do you think we're going to let you walk? Hannah died because of you. If you hadn't-" Colin's voice was shaking now. "If you had just known how to take no for an answer, she would still be alive right now." 

"You think I don't know that?" When Gabriel spoke, his voice was wooden. "You think I don't regret it? You think I don't lie awake all night every night wishing I had done something differently? It's all I ever think about." 

"That doesn't excuse it." Colin was fumbling in his pocket, then he pulled out the recorder. "I've recorded everything. That's a confession. You can't worm your way out –”

"I am not going to prison." Gabriel's voice was deadly calm. 

"You can't just keep –”

"I can. " The stillness on his face was eerie. 

Colin seemed to be at a loss for words. 

"I'm not going to prison." Gabriel repeated. He surveyed the group, looking first to Cecily, then to Oliver, then to Colin, then finally to me. I felt my heart constrict. His gaze lingered for a moment, then snapped back to Colin. 

"No." He said. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Then he stepped backwards off the tower. 

In the years that have since passed, I am drawn back to that moment the most. 

Audra screamed, a high, howling shriek that pierced through the stillness of the night. She was still hunched over, arms gripped to her chest, rocking back and forth, shaking her head. 

It comes back in ugly fits and starts: there's the flap of his jacket as he fell, the anguished guttural sound Oliver made as he lunged forward with arms outstretched, but the image that I can still see clearly even now is the dead look in Gabriel’s eyes in the split second before he was gone. 

And then it was over before it had started. There was nothing to indicate the moment of impact, and if there was it was buried by the sound of Colin’s collapse, Audra’s agony, Oliver’s helpless shout into the wind.

I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now, the deep blackness that opened up inside me right at that moment and never healed. It was aching, cavernous, and I was falling with him, always falling, waiting for the rushing in my ears to stop, for the ground to feel solid beneath me, truth to feel solid around me.

There was only one truth, and we didn’t need anyone else to tell us to know that it was the only real thing left: Gabriel was dead.


	46. 43.

That night: flashing lights and caution tape.

The next day: a hollow ache, nerves stripped raw by shock. Betrayal. Emptiness. There was no going on. There would be no after.

We were supposed to graduate in the afternoon. There would have been a ceremony, probably. We didn’t go, if there was one. I only remember the twenty-four hours after in ugly snapshots: Colin being forced back down the stairs hours afterward, Audra in her room with the door closed throwing everything she could find against stone walls.

Oliver and I were the only ones who saw him. I think it was good that no one else did. I wish I never had, but I couldn’t have let him go alone, though he insisted it was possible Gabriel had made it out alive.

It was never possible.

That was my last image: walking around the corner, his legs askew. I don’t remember the rest, except that Audra had been right. It was a person I had known, all wrong angles.

I’d been waiting for Oliver to break, to shatter, _something_ , but he had just looked down, long and hard, and then he’d looked back up at me, and I’d seen in his eyes that the destruction wasn’t going to happen on the outside, because it had already happened, somewhere inside him, far away enough to be inaccessible to me.

Whether he called the police or someone else did, I didn’t know.

“I think we should stop keeping secrets.” He said, in one of days after. “I think _you_ should stop keeping secrets. They kill people.”

I knew that he knew, and there wasn’t going to be a way around it. “Colin told you?”

He nodded, a muscle working in his jaw. “You kept that secret the whole time. All year.”

I nodded.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.”

There was a pause, then just his voice, undone. “You promised, though.”

I had promised. I hadn’t meant it, even then. I’d lived the entire year afraid of this moment and now that I was looking at it in the eye, I didn’t feel anything at all.

Colin had the recording.

One of the days after, we found him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the cassette, turning it around in his fingers.

“You don’t have to turn it in.” Oliver told him, voice colourless. “You know we’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Her family should know.” Colin’s tone was empty. “It would be the right thing to do. He doesn’t – deserve –”

He ducked his head low. A tear dropped to the wooden floor and spattered.

Oliver put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s been punished enough.”

I always wondered about that. Was it punishment, really? Was death a sentencing? Or, for Gabriel, had it always been an escape?

I wondered, not for the first nor for the last time; had I ever really known Gabriel? Had any of us?

One morning, Audra was gone. When we asked Dr. Davis, we found out she’d left the night before without saying goodbye.

The future was a straight line I had already walked. We were drifting apart even while we were still together, even those of us who clung to the shattered remains, and I knew, even while we were promising we’d stay in touch, that we wouldn’t, not the way we’d expected.

“It didn’t mean anything.” I told Oliver at one point. “With me. And Gabriel.”

“Of course it did.” He stood, walked towards the window, looked up at the tower. “It was Gabriel. It meant something.”

“Is that it, then?” I said. “Do you hate me?”

He laughed, sounding all wrong, not at all like Oliver. “You can really ask me that after all this?”

I let out an unsteady breath. “Are we over?”

“I don’t know.” He said. “I really don’t.”

I’d lost him, though. I could see it then, and I knew it every minute of the weeks to come, even when he’d try to convince me we’d be alright, we weren’t, and he wasn’t mine anymore. Maybe he never had been.

We were Conolly graduates, at last, the five of us remaining, with none of the bells and whistles. Just a silent acknowledgement. _You’ve done enough_. After the performance, we all knew we’d have places anywhere we wanted.

I could go anywhere, do anything.

It meant nothing, anymore. I couldn’t avoid the unpleasant sensation that the rest of my life was cyclical, that the grisly urgency which had propelled me through the entire year would haunt me forever.

Spring bloomed in the beautiful mountainside, and an endless winter had opened up inside of me. Hannah was gone. Gabriel was gone, too.

That had been his choice. Between life behind bars and no life at all, he’d chosen a backwards step into nothing. Was that wrong? Could any of us say that it had been a wrong choice? Could we have ever been the force that dictated whether he deserved the right to choose?

It left the rest of us with a choice, too. What were we bound by? What was there but to step into tomorrow, again and again, despite the horror it might bring?

One afternoon in that last week at Conolly, it rained. It wasn’t the warm rain of a late-summer storm that we’d been caught in all of those weeks ago, it was freezing, almost sleet. Maybe that was better. I’d gone outside in it, held my arms out to it, asked the world of it.

 _It’ll wash away anything, if you let it_ , Hannah had said. _Anything._

And so I’d stood there, face towards the sky, and hoped.

**THE END.**

_“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”_

― Aldous Huxley


End file.
